


Somehow, Someday

by wordsinpaper



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 90,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinpaper/pseuds/wordsinpaper
Summary: Looking to forget the stress from work, Dr. Quentin Coldwater visits his old house by the lake. There, he finds a letter from someone claiming to be writing to him from 2018. They're crazy, right? But what if they aren't? The two of them start exchanging letters using the mailbox of the lake house and feelings bloom between them. Now they have to find a way to meet each other when they live two years apart.Based off the 2006 movie "The Lake House".
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33
Collections: Magicians Happy Ever After





	1. Every minute from this minute now

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Somehow, Someday {ART}](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648917) by [TiaMalefica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaMalefica/pseuds/TiaMalefica). 



> First of all, thank you to the people who organized this. I had a lot of fun in the previous one and I'm glad they decided to give it another spin.  
> Thank you also to my partner in all of this, [TiaMalefica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaMalefica). She helped me unblock some stuff during the writing process and I'll forever be grateful for her thoughts and suggestions.  
> Big thanks also go to my dear beta, Chiqi. This turned into a much bigger monster than I initially planned for, and she stuck to it as its length kept getting longer and longer, so thank you so much for that!  
> Now, before you get into this, know this was based on a movie that deals with some potential heavy stuff. I changed many things along the way, but this story also dips its metaphorical feet into some of those, so I'll leave any specific warnings in the beginning of each chapter for what you may find there.  
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this mammoth of a thing (I broke it into chapters so it doesn't seem as daunting).  
> Title comes from Duncan Laurence's "Yet". I swear this song fits the story so well...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin deals with some heavy stuff at work and seeks refuge in the lake house.  
> He finds Eliot's letter and decides the guy is crazy and trying to pull Quentin down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Snow Patrol's "Open Your Eyes".  
> TW: There's a description of an accident happening in front of Quentin and him trying to save the person who's dying. There are mentions of death and dealing with its fallout.

Quentin picks up the last box with a grunt, almost tripping over his feet on the way out, trying to look past it to see where it’s safer to place his feet.

“Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to move out again so soon?” he asks his friend Julia as he places the box in the back of her father’s truck.

She smiles kindly at him and throws him the house keys, which he barely grabs before they can connect painfully with his face.

“You’re too tired to drive to and back from work every day, or so you told me. I checked all the lights and closed all the windows and doors for you.”

Quentin throws her a relieved look accompanied by a deep sigh. “What would I do without you?”

She shrugs carelessly as she gets in the passenger seat of the truck.

“You’d probably have a hernia or something by now.”

Quentin gets into the driver’s seat and slides the key into the ignition.

“As a doctor, I like to think I’d stop before reaching that stage.”

“I don’t know, Q. I’ve heard doctors make the worst patients.”

Just before he starts the engine, he curses under his breath and reaches for his bag at Julia’s feet.

“What did you forget this time?”

Quentin pulls out a pen and a notebook and makes his way to the mailbox. Julia watches as he scribbles something down, rips the sheet of paper, folds it, slips into an old used envelope and places it inside the mailbox.

Two minutes later they’re driving away from the house.

\---

Another truck pulls in. This time a man comes alone. When he parks it, he turns off the ignition, but leaves the keys in for another moment. He looks at the house, a heavy weight gripping his lungs for some reason.

He exits the truck and walks around it to the passenger side. He picks up the smaller box sitting there and closes the door. With his free hand, he reaches for the keys in his pocket.

When he gets closer, Eliot allows himself to _really_ look at the house. It doesn’t look completely abandoned, but he can already see where things have started to show some age. He makes a mental note of the things he can improve.

With a deep breath as a form of self-encouragement, he takes the last steps that lead him to the door.

Home, sweet home.

\---

Sometimes work can be frustrating, when the people Eliot works with don’t give him due credit. Just because he doesn’t have decades upon decades of experience as an architect, like his father, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

When that happens, he always feels like the work day drags on unnecessarily and then the whole thing gets overdue.

He rolls his shoulders and lets out a breath when he parks his car. Looking up, he sees that he’s got mail. He didn’t expect to get something so soon after finally settling back into town. He picks up the letter and takes it inside. He unlocks the door and puts his bag down. He sighs, toes his shoes off and walks towards the couch, letting himself fall down on its soft cushions.

His fingers open the envelope delicately. Inside is a short message.

_“Dear new tenant,_

_My name is Quentin Coldwater and I’m the previous tenant of this house._

_First of all, let me say that I hope you will be as happy here as I was, even if I didn’t stay for long._

_Now, the reason for this letter… I stopped by the post office to change my address before I moved everything from the house, but just in case something of mine shows up, I’m leaving this here with my current address and asking you to, please, forward it to me._

_I also feel the need to tell you that there’s a box in the attic. I didn’t leave it behind, don’t worry. It was already there when I moved in. I actually didn’t make that much use of the attic to begin with, so I just let it sit there unopened._

_Oh! And the paw prints by the front door were already there as well. I’m sure there’s a story behind it, but I wouldn’t know anything about it, as I didn’t know the previous tenants._

_Thank you so much in advance._

_Quentin Coldwater”_

“Huh.”

He turns the paper in his hands and, sure enough, there’s an address there for a doctor living somewhere in the city, he thinks.

The strange thing is… as far as he knows, no one has lived in this house for quite some time now, but it doesn’t look like the letter has been rotting away in the mailbox for years.

Also…

“Paw prints?”

Eliot frowns at the walls and gets up from the couch. He puts on some slippers and goes back outside.

He walks almost all the way back to shore, but there are no paw prints anywhere on the wooden pier.

“What the hell is this guy on about?”

That makes him wonder about the box.

Similarly, he drags himself inside and all the way up to the attic. There are many spider webs, but no box.

“Definitely not the right house,” he mutters, turning off the light and going back down.

\---

Quentin unlocks the door to his apartment. His feet barely leave the ground as he shuffles his tired body inside, closing the door behind him.

He reaches for the light switch at the same time that his dog jumps on him.

“Hey, girl,” he greets while crouching down slightly to pet her.

She barks at him once and runs towards the kitchen.

Quentin drops the last of her food onto her plate on the floor.

“Definitely need to do some grocery shopping and get you some food, huh?”

Her only reply is a small huff as she noses around her food plate.

Quentin moves towards the fridge, looking for something that will settle his empty stomach, but he finds it almost as empty.

“I should probably get some food for me as well, it seems.”

He uses the last of his cheese to make a quick sandwich and shuffles his way into the bathroom for a quick shower before bed.

\---

Before he goes home for the weekend, Eliot picks up some paint on his way from work. He wants to give the house a bit of a makeover.

He spends the weekend cleaning, moving things around, leaving the painting of the handrail on the pier that connects the house to the shore for last.

When he’s about halfway done with it, he senses something move right past him and run towards the house. He puts the paintbrush down and looks up to see a dog about to walk into it.

“Hey! Get back here!” he yells at it, to no avail.

It’s when he gets up to follow it that he looks down and finds the paw prints that the furry creature left behind.

His breath hitches and he thinks back to the letter he’d found in the mailbox. He shakes his head. First things first.

“Hey!” he starts again, running after the dog. “You better not be walking around the whole house, you hear me?”

After finally getting the dog to leave (thankfully, it hadn’t made it past the entrance), Eliot closed the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time on his way to the attic.

He turned on the light and found the letter on the floor. He picked it up again.

_“Oh! And the paw prints by the front door were already there as well. I’m sure there’s a story behind it, but I wouldn’t know anything about it.”_

“How in the hell…?”

\---

“Sixty degrees on Valentine’s Day in Chicago. What’s happening?”

Quentin sits next to his mother after a long shift at work. They’d agreed to meet for a quick lunch before his mother had to go back. After this, his plans were for a much needed date with his very soft and comfortable bed.

“Global warming, they say. You know, temperature rising, ice melting, seas rising… If we’re lucky enough, we won’t be here to see the worst of it.”

Quentin chuckles and looks down as his mother continues on. His eyes fall on her open bag at her feet. Inside, he can see an old book.

“What’s this?” he nudges her bag with his foot.

She looks down and swallows down her bite of food before replying.

“It was your father’s. You know, once in a while I feel like going through his collection and picking one at random.”

That makes Quentin laugh harder.

“You picked a Dostoyevsky book at random?”

She shrugs and takes another bite of her sandwich.

“So far it’s actually quite interesting, if not frustrating. This young man went a bit crazy and attacked an old woman with an axe. Now, I’m a few pages past that and he’s still tormenting himself, literally getting sick because his conscience is getting the best of him. He’s driving me a bit up the walls, to be honest. So far no one knows what he’s done, but the way he keeps trying to...”

Quentin leans back and admires his mother, not really paying attention to her words anymore. Somehow, he never thought she’d actually give his dad’s books a chance. The way they always seemed to be from completely different worlds still makes him wonder what brought them together to begin with.

“What?” Laura asks when he doesn’t break his intense gaze, breaking off from her rant about _Crime and Punishment_.

“Nothing,” he replies, shaking his head. There’s no way he could ever put into words everything that crosses his mind when he takes the time to stare at his mother.

Like always, with a mere tilt of her head, she seems to look right at his deepest thoughts.

“You know, your father and I were always friends, regardless of our differences. We fit together well.”

“You just fit better with your current spouse,” he adds with a small smile, making sure she knows he holds no resentment.

Laura smiles back sadly.

“She does give me things your father couldn’t. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him, you know?” She looks away, her gaze lost in the horizon. “It was hard when he died. It still is sometimes.”

She crumbles the sandwich wrapper and puts it down beside her before reaching for the book inside her bag.

“It’s silly, but holding his books, reading the pages he once touched… it makes me feel like he’s still there, beside me. When I feel conflicted about anything, I reach for the shelves in the study and I feel calmer. It’s where I find the solution for most of my problems.”

It warms his heart. His father left a gaping hole in their lives, but knowing that his mother has found happiness again while still keeping that connection to her late husband gives him hope. Hope that maybe things will turn out just as well for him.

He’s yanked out of his daydreaming by the sound of screeching tires, broken glass and people’s screams.

“Oh God,” he hears his mother beside him.

When he looks up, the street is a mess. The cars have stopped, but the screaming hasn’t.

He sees a woman crying and running away from the cars.

“Oh my God! Someone call an ambulance!”

The bus driver quickly hops out of his seat and stops horrified in front of the bus.

That’s when Quentin gets up and sprints towards it, already dialing the numbers on his phone.

“Hey! We need an ambulance at Daley Plaza. A man’s been hit by a bus,” he speaks quickly into the receiver as soon as his call gets through.

He drops his phone when he reaches the victim, dropping to his knees and immediately checking his vitals.

“Shit, shit, come on.”

Quentin takes a deep breath. In the background, he registers a policeman asking people to step away from the road. He takes a moment to get his adrenaline under control and tries to find a pulse again.

It’s way too weak for Quentin’s liking and the blood slowly pooling around them isn’t reassuring either.

“Come on, work with me here.”

Soon after, the EMT team arrives and takes over for him. He steps back and ignores the way his bloody fingers tremble.

\---

“Hey.”

Quentin looks up.

“Hi,” he replies lifelessly.

“I heard about what happened at the Daley Plaza,” Dr. Lipson adds. “The guys who brought him in said you fought really hard out there.”

Quentin nods, ignoring the dryness of his throat. “Yeah,” he rasps, looking down again. “Made a huge difference in the end, no doubt.”

He hears her sigh before sitting down beside him. Her warm palm settles over his tense forearm.

“Listen, Quentin. You haven’t been here for long, but I’m hoping you’ll be the young doctor who finally listens to what I have to say and takes it to heart, okay?”

He bites his lip and gulps down, hoping to push that knot further down his stomach.

“This job gets tough sometimes. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that it’s difficult to be completely detached and still keep our humanity intact. Some days we perform miracles inside four walls, surrounded by machinery and sterilized instruments. Others…” she trails off, pursing her lips.

“What I want to tell you is that you need to find a safe place, for you, for your thoughts and feelings. Somewhere you can go to and connect to the world around you on your days off. To look inside yourself and find and reconnect to the lost part of yourself that you have to lock away while you’re working.”

Her hand slides down and slips between his shaking cold fingers. She laces her fingers through his and squeezes hard. He squeezes back and lets his eyes shut closed, too.

“We’re only human, Quentin. We can’t keep it all inside forever. It’s not healthy.”

Her other hand pats his. “You’re a good one, I can already tell. But you can’t let yourself spiral down like this or it’ll eat you up from the inside.”

Then she gets up and leaves him alone with his thoughts. He curls forward and the tears fall freely as the sobs rattle his frame.

\---

Two days later, Quentin is driving down to the lake by the house he used to live in. He parks his car and exits. He circles to the other side and lets his dog out.

“Come on, girl. Time to give those old legs some stretching.”

He gets an indignant bark out of that and he laughs.

They walk down close to the water, making their way through the trees and fallen leaves. Quentin is ignoring that tiny thought of just how much dirt his dog will drag back to his car and into their home.

A few minutes of aimless walking, Quentin spots the glass house in the distance. With a calming deep breath, he makes his way towards it.

The house looks as peaceful and beautiful as the day he left it. It’s as if it was just standing there, over the water, with open arms and inviting him back in.

_Come,_ it seems to tell him. _Come and let your mind wander to happier times._

He lets his feet take him around the house until he’s on the balcony on its opposite side. He leans on the baluster and looks out at the water beneath him. He watches the sunlight reflect off of it and turns off from all thoughts for a while.

He’s brought back from his amorphous thoughts when he feels a wet nose rub against his leg. Quentin looks down and lets out a small chuckle.

“See, I’m pretty sure you weren’t this dirty before.”

His dog barks in response and shakes her furry wet body, throwing muddy water at Quentin.

“Hey, hey! I get it. The shower is waiting for you at home.”

She barks again and walks away from him.

He pats the baluster and looks at the lake one last time before making his way back to the car. Before he reaches it, he walks past the mailbox and pauses.

With a shrug, he opens it to peer inside and finds a small envelope addressed to him.

Maybe he was right after all. It really was a good idea to leave a note for the next tenants.

He opens the door to let his dog in and follows her inside. Once the door is closed, he rips the envelope open and pulls the letter from inside it.

_“Dear Dr. Coldwater,_

_There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe you meant to leave this note to the people living in the house further down the shore._

_I’ve recently moved here, but I’m pretty sure no one has lived in this particular house for quite a few years now._

_The paw prints, though… those, I’ll admit, are a real head-scratcher._

_Regards,_

_Eliot Waugh”_

“What?” he wonders out loud.

His dog licks the back of his hand.

“I know, girl. I’m…”

He frowns at the paper in his hands for a second longer, then reaches for his satchel and pulls out a notebook and a pen to start scribbling.

\---

Eliot finally made some progress with the workers team at the construction site. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t challenging, but he finally got them to see things from his perspective and be good enough sports to give his plans a chance.

He rolls his shoulders when he gets out of his car and picks up his bag. Walking past the mailbox he sees the little red flag signaling that he’s got mail. He stops by it to pick it up and closes it again.

He hears some excited barking following him down the path and rolls his eyes fondly. The dog has been following him around since it decided to decorate the wooden path to his front door.

It has been staying around longer and longer to the point where Eliot has placed a water bowl outside, but it has always left to do its thing during the day, so he’s trying not to let himself get too attached.

Once he’s inside the house, he puts the envelope down on the coffee table and moves to the kitchen to start on his dinner, occasionally throwing some scraps at the dog.

A few minutes later, while waiting for his rice to cook, he looks over into the living room space and his gaze falls on the forgotten letter.

He picks it up and goes outside to smoke a cigarette. He lights it up and takes a drag from it, letting the smoke swirl inside him for a moment. Then, he exhales and carefully pries the envelope open.

_“Dear Mr. Waugh,_

_I’ll let you know I’m familiar with the cottage down the shore, as we used to be neighbors. I can guarantee you I’ve never lived there. There seems to be something getting lost in translation here, so allow me to try again._

_Hi, I’m Quentin and I used to live in the lake house. I’ve moved recently to a new place near the hospital. I live at 1620 North Racine in Chicago and I’d seriously appreciate it if you would forward my mail there, if you get any._

_Oh, and before I forget, I think you’re getting your dates mixed up. It’s 2020. It has been for more than two months now. And I think I speak for all of us out here when I say I can’t wait for this shitty year to be over._

_Quentin Coldwater”_

He chokes on his cigarette and puts it down, smearing some of the ashes against the envelope laying on the balustrade.

“2020? What the hell is this guy smoking?”


	2. The world is spinning like a weathervane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin and Eliot get to know each other and try to figure out what's with the time difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Hurricane" by Fleurie.  
> TW: There's a brief description of the accident from the previous chapter in one of Quentin's letters, so proceed with caution. Their letter exchange gets a bit heavy when that happens, because Eliot has some bad memories of his own to share.

“I hate him. I absolutely hate him. He thinks that just because I’m a woman that I’m useless. He always does this!”

“Calm down, Margo. I don’t think it was that bad.”

Margo snorts sarcastically.

“If you think he won’t take my plans and give it some weird Waugh twist and then take all the credit for it–” she freezes when she reaches the building’s main door.

“Margo?” her colleague calls after her, but she doesn’t hear it. She’s too busy staring.

Outside is Eliot Waugh, leaning on his car, a big smile on his face.

“You’re back!” she yells excitedly and runs straight into his welcoming arms.

“You look like you were hit by a freight train, by the way,” she mumbles against his coat.

“I missed you, too,” he replies truthfully, squeezing her harder against his tall body.

“Four years, El…”

“I know.”

“Ugh, don’t you ever leave me like that again,” she pleads, burrowing further into his comforting warmth.

Eliot chuckles above her and his arms loosen around her smaller body.

“I thought we agreed I needed a break from Mr. Waugh Senior.”

She pulls back and touches his cheek lovingly.

“I know, El, but you’ve been offline for years and he’s been a nightmare to work with.”

Eliot shoulder lifts in a noncommittal shrug.

“Hasn’t he always, Bambi?”

She sighs and her shoulders drop heavily, like all the weight on them has finally come off now that her best friend is back in town.

When she looks up at him again, he’s looking over her shoulder, the muscle in his jaw jumping slightly with tension. She turns around and sees his father coming out of the building.

He, too, seems to freeze upon seeing his son. Then, with a dismissing nod, he turns right and goes on his way without looking back.

Facing Eliot again, she sees him slowly deflate and her heart breaks for him.

“I think he’s mad that you left to do your own thing and stopped caring about his opinion.”

“Well, he might end up getting even angrier soon enough.”

She slaps his arm.

“What did you do?”

He shrugs again, this time accompanied by a wicked smile.

“Nothing too bad. I bought a house.”

“Wow. A whole house?”

“Yup. By the lake.”

She stares open-mouthed.

“You bought a lake house. Honestly, why didn’t I follow you on this adventure of yours and make me some hard money?”

He laughs.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s been abandoned for a while now, so I’m slowly working on making it look presentable. And feeling like an actual home instead of a bunch of furniture surrounded by glass walls.”

Margo spins on her heels and laughs.

“You finally lost it, big guy.”

“And you know what?” he continues. “I even got a dog now.”

“You got a dog? You know that’s a living being you need to look after now, right? It eats, sleeps and pisses all over the furniture. Next you’re gonna tell me it came with the house,” she jokes, unknowingly hitting it on the nose.

“Sort of, actually. It’s a peculiar story. Do you have some free time on your hands now?”

Margo gives him a genuine big smile followed by a wink.

“For you? Always.”

He kisses her on the cheek and opens the passenger door for her.

\---

Later that night, after a few drinks and some light conversation ‒ intentionally gleaming over four years’ worth of catching up for now ‒ they’re out in the street again.

Margo’s arm is linked through his and she almost steps on his foot when trying to get closer to absorb some of his body warmth.

“Run it by me again. What exactly are we doing here, in the middle of nowhere?” she asks, gesturing around them.

Eliot looks down at the paper in his hand, then looks up at the building that’s barely a draft coming to life.

“I’m supposed to deliver a letter here, but…”

Margo looks down at the paper.

“Help me out, honey, I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the bad eye. Maybe it’s just the writing,” she says, squinting down at the paper.

Eliot pulls them under a lamppost.

“It says the address is 1620 North Racine. This is the place, except there’s no actual place yet.”

Margo looks up at the raw concrete, then frowns at Eliot.

“Are you doing drugs again, El? I thought those four years away were meant to help you cleanse out all the bad shit, not just your daddy issues.”

He elbows her, gently but pointedly.

“I’m done with that. Never going back again, I swear,” he reassures her. “That one was actually just a phase, unlike other things my dad would love to be equally temporary.”

She swats him on the arm.

“Ignore that asshole.” She squints up at him, a sudden serious and sober look crossing her features. “But it better be over, El. I didn’t lose half of my sanity when you left to go off the grid for so long just so you’d come back the same, or, God forbid, even worse!”

He untangles their arms so he can throw his arm over her shoulders and pull her closer to him.

“I promise, Margo.” He purposely uses her name so she understands he’s being serious.

“Ok. I trust you. Now, this address… What are we supposed to do? They haven’t even built the fucking mailboxes yet.”

Eliot frowns at the grey building. Standing here in the cold night, it almost seems like it’s mocking him.

“It makes no sense.”

“We could always make a paper airplane and give it our best chance. Does it say what floor?”

Eliot scoffs and pulls her back to the way they came from.

“Let’s go home, Bambi.”

\---

A few days later, Quentin has another day off. He takes his dog out for a walk by the lake. He knows she loves the place. Or at least that’s the excuse he finds to go back and peek at the mailbox again.

When he sees the now familiar looping of his name in the envelope, he slips it in his pocket and decides to shake off the weird thrill from exchanging letters with a stranger rushing through his body by following the dog down to the water.

The drive back home is smoother and Quentin feels infinitely calmer when he locks the door behind him for the night.

After removing his boots by the door, he flops down on his couch and reaches for the letter.

_“Dear Dr. Coldwater,_

_I went to the address you gave me, but there’s nothing there. It’s just a construction site. They have a few pictures of what they hope it’ll look like once it’s done, but I’m afraid I’ll have to wait about eighteen months to see it._

_Without a mailbox to drop this in, I had to leave it back here and hope you’d pick it up someday._

_Tell me, what did I get wrong? Are you sure you gave me the right address? You said you’d moved recently, so maybe you haven’t memorized it yet. Check it again. And check your calendar while you’re at it, because you’ve got your date wrong, too._

_Regards,_

_Eliot Waugh”_

Quentin lets out a mix of an amused yet confused huff and checks the date on the guy’s letter.

“2018 again? Okay. I don’t know what kind of weird fun you’re getting out of this, but two can play this game.”

He gets up from the couch, leaving the letter behind. In the guest room turned study, he rummages through papers and photos in his desk drawer. After some fumbling, he finds what he was looking for.

“Well, if you really are back in 2018, then this should help you out,” he says, letting his fingers touch the date on the bottom of the photo.

He writes a quick letter, slides it into an envelope and drops it on the dresser by the entrance, near his car keys.

\---

It’s the seventh of April when Eliot opens the mailbox and a nice and warm scarf tumbles down to fall at his feet.

As he leans down to pick it up, a gust of wind makes the light envelope leave the mailbox in a wide circle and land a few feet away from Eliot.

He takes wide steps to reach it and pick it up before the wind can take it any further away.

Puzzled by the extra object that’s breaking the norm of the simple letters being exchanged, Eliot barely makes it inside the house before his long fingers are already working on opening the envelope, ignoring the dog that’s finally decided to stick around long enough to warrant Eliot getting her a little bed in the living room.

To add to his already heightened curiosity, this time there’s a photo attached to it. There are five people in it and none of them seem familiar.

He places it down on the coffee table and unfolds the letter.

_“Dear Mr. Waugh,_

_Okay. I’ll bite. If you really are all the way back to the last couple of days in March of 2018, then you’ll be surprised to learn that there will be a freak late snow that will make a lot of people sick._

_The temperature dropped around April 7th, but no one really paid much attention to it. So, you will be the lucky one here, because you’ll be forewarned. Remember, I know how cold the lake house can get._

_As a doctor, I’m qualified to say the following: get plenty of rest, find a warm place to sleep in and drink lots of fluids. Doctor’s orders._

_Take care,_

_Quentin Coldwater”_

Eliot chances a dubious look outside, but the warm orange sky of the early evening doesn’t seem to go with Coldwater’s assessment.

“Snow. Yeah, right.”

He lets the letter and the envelope fall on top of the photo already lying on the table. He removes his coat and hangs it by the door. Then, he rolls up his sleeves as he makes his way towards the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Much later, when his soup is finally done and the dog has been fed, he turns off the stove and reaches for a bowl. After ladling out some soup into it, he places it down on the wooden coffee table in front of the TV.

Just as he’s about to sit down on the couch, a shiver runs down his spine and he sneezes. When he looks up, still somewhat dazed, he blinks.

“No, this can’t be.”

He straightens back up and walks around the couch, crosses the house to the other side and opens the door to the balcony on the back of it. He approaches the railings and reaches out with a hand.

“Holy shit,” he mutters as he watches the snowflakes slowly drift around his outstretched hand, dancing in the wind and circling down into the water of the lake.

The dog follows him outside, jumping and barking at the falling white flakes.

He starts laughing at the absurdity of it. Then he shivers and sneezes again, prompting him to laugh even harder.

“That fucking bastard was right!”

After the third sneeze, he concedes and goes back inside with his dog, looking out the windows all around him, still speechless and in awe.

He goes back to the living room, where he left his steaming bowl of soup. On his way there, Eliot sees the dark wool of the scarf he’d found in the mail along with Quentin’s letter.

His fingers brush lightly against its softness before picking up the photo and the letter again.

Sitting down on the couch and ignoring the sound of the TV in the background, Eliot reads it once more and takes another glance at the photo. Out of the five people in it, there are three men. One of them is his mysterious correspondent.

 _‘Who are you?’_ Eliot thinks, his thumb following the different contours of those three faces. There is a kind-looking man that gives Eliot some pause, but there is really no way of knowing for sure.

He chuckles to himself, putting both the photo and the letter down on the table, a giddy feeling taking over his body.

“This is insane, but I’m really into it.”

\---

When Eliot woke up the next day, having followed Quentin’s advice and throwing an extra quilt on his bed, he felt a smile instantly blooming on his lips as he sat up in bed.

He stretched and made his way to the bathroom to get his shower running. He looked at his goofy face in the mirror and almost chastised himself for feeling like a teenager high on hormones. The more he looked, though, the more the smile refused to leave his lips.

He undressed and stepped under the comfortingly warm water. While carefully washing his hair with shampoo, he thought about what he was going to write to Quentin.

It was undeniably real now. Impossibly so, but real nonetheless.

In the end, Eliot stands in front of the mailbox, wrapped in a fluffy robe and scribbles quickly down onto the paper before ripping the page off the notebook and shoving it in the mailbox. With a shaky breath, he reaches out again to lift the little flag.

He looks down and the dog is regarding him silently, occasionally looking over at the mailbox. In the end, she huffs, whips her tail once and sits down, content to just freeze her ass off on the thin layer of snow just so she can stare unblinkingly at the white old metal box.

“Well, good for you, buddy, but I’m not made of the same tough stuff. Sorry to disappoint,” Eliot speaks and pats her head lightly, before turning on his heel and walking down the path that leads to the house.

\---

Quentin parked his car in his now familiar spot. He hasn’t seen any other tire marks on the ground apart from his, so he wondered if his mysterious correspondent was dropping the letters during his daily walk by the lake.

He gets out of the car and tricks himself into thinking he’s not excited to get his hands on the letter he’s certain is waiting for him inside the mailbox.

So, of course, he pretends he didn’t feel that electric jolt run down his body when he saw the little flag raised, waiting for him to open the small door and get to what’s inside.

He takes a deep breath and reaches for the latch.

Inside, there’s only a small crushed piece of paper. He was expecting something different. Maybe the elusive Eliot would finally come clean, tell him he’s done playing this weird game of letter exchanging and then write all about what he’d done on that day of unexpected snow.

Instead, all he finds when he takes the ball of paper in his hands and slowly opens it, careful not to rip it to shreds.

_“How is this happening?”_

No “Dear Dr. Coldwater” as an opening, no “Regards” at the end…

Quentin looks around, but there’s no one there. His dog sits patiently next to him, waiting to see what the hell he’s gonna do next.

With a shrug, he takes the pen from the back pocket of his jeans and doesn’t even bother picking a new sheet of paper.

“Okay. If this is how we’re gonna do it…”

He throws it back inside, closes the door and lifts the little flag again.

\---

Eliot has made it almost all the way down to his front door when the dog barks.

He looks up and the flag has come down.

He freezes and stares silently at it.

A few seconds later, the flag comes up again and the dog barks once more.

“What the…”

He runs back but pauses before he can touch the actual box. He frowns at it before looking down at the dog.

“Do you think it’ll bite?”

The dog barks and gets up. She starts circling Eliot, tail wagging, obviously excited about this whole thing.

“Okay. But if something happens to me, I’ll come back to haunt you.”

Another bark, this time followed by a furry nose nudging him on the back of his knee.

He touches the latch with the tips of his fingers and steps back as soon as it falls open.

The once crumpled up paper is now neatly folded.

_“Magic?”_

\---

Quentin puts away the pen and looks at the lake house for a long, nostalgic moment before turning around and walking back to the car.

He opens the door but, unlike the previous times, his dog doesn’t immediately jump inside it.

He frowns and looks behind him. His dog is still sitting where he left her.

“Hey, Jac! Come on!”

Jac turns her head to look at him briefly before turning her attention back to the mailbox.

“What are you doing, you crazy pup? Come on. You know no one’s gonna come out of the bushes to reply if we stand here and wait. It’s like Santa, isn’t it?”

He only gets a bark as a response, as she remains sitting there with her back to him.

Suddenly, the red flag goes down and Quentin almost jumps out of his skin.

Jac gets up on all fours again and barks excitedly, her tail moving so fast that Quentin can only see a yellowish blur.

“How the hell did you do that?”

His dog looks back at him and Quentin could swear she’s judging him. He sighs, resigned, and walks back towards her.

“Ok. I’m here. Now, can we go back to the car? I told you, he’s not gonna show with us here, waiting.”

And then he literally jumps, trips, falls on his ass and curses loudly, because the red flag on the mailbox goes up again.

“Shit!” he exclaims, putting an end to a seemingly endless train of expletives coming out of his mouth.

Quentin’s heart is still hammering against his ribcage, but his palm finds a steady surface to settle on and help him get up on his feet again. He rubs the dirt away from his hands and his jeans.

He approaches the mailbox again, feet shuffling ever closer. His breath hasn’t slowed down yet and neither has his heartbeat.

“Knowing me, I’d be the first one whose cause of death was an animated mailbox.” He pauses to look down at his dog and pet her behind the ears. “You’d call for help, wouldn’t you?”

She rubs her wet nose against the inside of his wrist and he smiles instantly in response.

When he opens the mailbox, he sees the paper folded just as he had done it before. However, this time there’s some extra looping in a different ink shade. The paper also feels cold and it’s slightly damp.

_“I know it sounds impossible, but it’s happening. Tell me you saw it, too. I’m driving myself insane. And it’s snowing! Just like you said it would!”_

The word _snowing_ is underlined three times and the ink leaves a trace behind it when Quentin’s thumb accidentally smudges it. He drops the paper as if it had just burnt him and looks at his blackened fingertip.

“Holy shit…”

\---

_“Where are you?”_

“Where am I? I’m at the lake house! Standing under the falling snow and in the freaking cold, staring at my mailbox like a fucking lunatic!”

The dog huffs and Eliot nudges her back with the tip of his bedroom slipper. She opens her mouth and closes her jaws tenderly around his ankle in response.

“I’m honestly starting to think we’re all mad here.”

\---

_“At the lake house. Obviously.”_

“ _Obviously_? Obviously. Well,” Quentin shouts, arms wide open, looking around and making a spectacle of himself. “As you can see, I’m at the lake house, too! I don’t know what kind of trick you’re pulling here, but I’m done with these childish games. I’m done. Gone. Bye.”

He kicks a small rock on his way back to his car and almost falls on his face. His dog huffs behind him, but she’s finally following him back to the car now, so he’ll gladly shake off the feeling that she’s laughing at his expense and let her climb in before him.

“We’ll give him a chance to come clean,” he tells her when he starts the car.

She throws him a quick look before turning her back to him and pawing at the controls in the passenger door to bring the window down. Quentin pats her on the back and she pushes her nose out of the window.

\---

Eliot checks the mailbox again, but there’s nothing inside, which means Dr. Coldwater took his note, but didn’t bother leaving a response. He shivers and waits five more minutes. When nothing changes, he uncrosses his arms and slips the notebook and pen inside the large pocket of his robe.

“I don’t think we’re getting a reply today.”

The dog seems to agree, for she gets up, shakes the snow off her fur and happily trots down on her way back to the front door.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

He returns to the warm inside of the lake house. Now that his mind isn’t spinning in circles around this unknown doctor from the future, his stomach finally makes itself known.

Eliot prepares himself some breakfast, pausing mid-bite when the dog places a paw on his thigh.

“Right. You need food, too.”

He gets up to fetch some dog food from the fridge and dump a serving of it on her empty plate.

“You know, we should give you a name.”

She whines at him. He’s not sure what that means yet, but he thinks he’ll leave it for now.

\---

It’s a few days later when Quentin gets home after a really long shift. He’s so tired that he accidentally steps on his dog’s paw. He drops everything and starts frantically petting her when she whines in betrayal.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to, I promise. I’m just,” he sighs and sits back on his heels.

He feels drained. She licks his face in forgiveness.

“You’re too sweet. I don’t deserve you.”

She whines in response and wags her tail some more.

Later, Quentin is lying in bed, the comforting weight of his dog lying next to him. His wandering thoughts end up returning to Eliot.

He fidgets with the folded end of his bedsheet.

“Do you think he’s playing a prank on me, Jac?”

She lifts her head to look at him. He looks away.

“That thing with the mailbox was weird, right? That wasn’t just me. That can’t have been just me. Should I try again?”

She barks and gets up, immediately licking his face again when it’s within reach.

“Okay, okay. Message received. Now let’s get some rest, shall we?”

He turns off the light, but there’s a sense of lightness in his chest now. He hadn’t even realized there had been an uncomfortable weight there before.

\---

**14th April 2018**

It’s been a week since the freak snow creeped up on him, just like the doctor had said it would. It has also been about two months since Eliot got the first letter from him.

When Eliot arrives home from work that day, he sees the little red flag indicating that he’s got mail.

After days of getting weirdly disappointed for not finding a response from the doctor, he’s finally accepted that it was all a weird hallucination and that he’s never getting anything in his mailbox other than actual correspondence that doesn’t defy the laws of physics.

There are a couple of envelopes inside. He removes them all and shoves them inside the pocket of his coat. Then, he closes the lid of his mailbox and makes his way down to the house.

When he slips the key into the front door lock, he sees his dog wagging her tail on the inside, waiting for him to open the door so she can pounce.

Door unlocked, Eliot hesitates before actually opening it.

“If you ruin another pair of pants,” he warns her through the glass.

She barks and jumps. As predicted, as soon as that last barrier between them is pushed to the side, she attacks. And, really, Eliot should know better than to try to negotiate with her at this point.

She’s been with him for about a month now and he still hasn’t settled on a good name for her. Though those dark doe-like eyes of her are tickling something inside his brain.

“Okay, okay,” he caves, kneeling down to rub her belly.

It was something that came as a surprise to him at first. That immediate ease with which he fell for her, and how that tender outpour of love came from somewhere deep inside him to reach out to her.

It’s not that he thinks he’s broken to the point where it’s not fixable anymore, but the last four years taught him a lot about himself. One deep assessing look inside told him that he wasn’t as unaffected by everything that had happened before he’d left.

One thing Eliot knew for sure was that he didn’t want to turn into the cold, stone-hearted person his father had become.

Shaking his head from all those turbulent thoughts, he pats his dog’s belly before getting up again.

He removes his coat and shoes in the hall, picks up the letters from his coat pocket and pads his way into the kitchen area.

For a moment, he ignores the letters in favor of looking into his fridge to try and work out what sort of meal he can put together with whatever food he has left. He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping after work the next day.

Thankfully, there are some leftovers from last night’s dinner. He takes those out of the fridge and removes the lid, placing it inside the microwave to reheat.

As the plate rotates, he turns back around and picks up the letters. He flips through them, separating the more urgent ones – like bills that need to be paid – into a neat pile.

The second to last one gives him pause.

It has his name on it, in a blue handwriting that he’s grown familiar with. The one he thought was a product of his imagination. The one he thought he wouldn’t be seeing again anytime soon. Or ever.

This time he’s less careful with the envelope. Curiosity gets the best of him and he rips his way through it.

_“Dear Eliot,_

_(You don’t mind me calling you Eliot, do you? I feel like we’re going through something so uniquely strange right now that it seems weird to keep calling you Mr. Waugh. Forgive me if I’m crossing a line here.)_

_I have no idea what’s going on right now or how any of this is even remotely possible or logical._

_I also hope I’m not just playing right into your sick little games._

_The thing is, we’ve exchanged notes and letters for quite a few days now, right? And I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a dream that had lasted this long before, so… For the sake of the argument, let’s say that this is all real, somehow, and that this is not a joke on either of our parts and you’re a real person, an actual living, breathing person who’s messaging me all the way back from 2018._

_If that is the case, I’m sorry for not believing you’re just as innocently puzzled as I am by all of this._

_And, uh. Could we just start over?_

_Hi. I’m Quentin.”_

If Quentin spoke like he wrote, then Eliot suspects he could pretty much conduct a whole conversation by himself.

He sighs. The microwave dings. The dog whines. He looks down at her empty plate and sighs again.

“Okay. Let’s prioritize here. Dog food first.”

He fills her bowl with dry food. She immediately digs into it, all tongue and teeth.

“I mean, don’t hold back on your manners or anything because of me,” he mutters. “Okay, next: human food.”

He grabs his leftovers from the microwave. His eyes shift towards the open letter on top of the kitchen counter, but he forces himself to turn his back to it and walk to the dining table instead.

Blowing on his forkful of rice and vegetables, he lets his mind wander to the impossibilities of the universe.

\---

**25th April 2020**

_“Hi, Quentin,_

_I’m gonna go on a limb here and guess that you’re not one of those pretentious doctors who love to use their job title as an extension of their given name, so I’m dropping the title for now._

_And Eliot is fine. It is my name after all. Like you said, we do find ourselves in an unprecedented (that we know of) situation and I don’t think formalities are all that important here._

_I can assure you that I am indeed a real person. A living, breathing, real boy. Just don’t tell my fairy godmother I’m making friends with real boys from the future or she may take it all away and shove me back on the shelf._

_(That was a joke, by the way. I realized that I should make that clear, considering our current peculiar situation.)_

_I don’t know how I can even begin to prove it to you, but I’m a very real person here, living in the year of 2018. This is no prank, I promise._

_In fact, the other day I almost had a heart attack when the mailbox randomly came alive to bring me your note._

_I guess it all seemed like a big joke on my end, too. Before this happened, I thought it was just some random jogger leaving these notes in my mailbox and then picking up the replies the following day._

_But seeing the note being delivered like that, right in front of me, without anyone dropping by and slipping it in… it changed things._

_Now I’m honestly spooked by the whole thing, considering I may have gone insane upon my return to this city, but also… a bit excited for being a chosen one on this special adventure, I’m not going to lie._

_Please, please, don’t be a serial killer and ruin the magic of it all now._

_Sincerely,_

_Eliot”_

Quentin laughs and then immediately bites his lip to stop himself, suddenly self-conscious.

He’s sitting on his couch back at his apartment. There’s a new thrum of delight coursing through his body. He lets himself be engulfed by this light, airy feeling of joy.

He doesn’t question the fact that a letter from what is essentially a stranger to him can make him feel this way.

Instead, he reaches forward for the pen lying on top of his notepad on the coffee table and lets it do all the talking.

\---

**26th April 2018**

Eliot parks his car by the mailbox. He smiles at it. He knows. He doesn’t really understand how he does, but he just _knows_ that there’s a letter from Quentin waiting to be read.

He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and exits the car, locking it behind him. He throws the strap over a shoulder and moves to retrieve the letter from the mailbox.

His dog gives him a false sense of security today. She’s sitting by the door, but she doesn’t look like a coiled spring, waiting for the moment of release anymore. When he unlocks the door, however, she noses at the letter for a second before jumping on him in a display that has become part of his daily routine by now.

“You are one crazy bitch, you know that?” he says, exasperated, but still leans down to pet her belly like he always does.

“Are you satisfied, my queen?”

She wiggles, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. He rubs her belly some more before straightening up.

“Come on, then. I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I better get this show on the road.”

He waves the letter at her and she jumps up and barks.

“Yeah, yeah. I have a feeling you’re just as invested in the outcome of this thing as I am. Why’s that, huh?”

Eliot places his bag on the armchair in the living room and takes the letter with him to the kitchen, where he has to start preparing his dinner.

“Hey, how about some grilled chicken and some veggies today?”

His dog eyes him hopefully and wags her tail.

“Yeah. Something tells me you’re still not over the disappointment of all that fishy smell from yesterday’s dinner.”

She pushes her nose against his long leg and he leans down to scratch behind her ears.

“You know, I never really thought I’d like to have a pet, yet here you are, and I somehow love you more each day that passes.”

She leans back and licks at his hand, before pushing her head under it once more.

“I hope that means you love me back. I don’t like this unrequited love thing. It only hurts in the end. I’ve had enough of that over the years.”

He lets her go and washes his hands carefully, getting lost in memories of love lost.

Eliot’s eyes move over the letter waiting on the counter and tries to forget how attached to this impossibility he feels already.

He prepares the chicken and the vegetables. Once it’s all cooking, he finally picks up the letter and opens it.

_“Hi, Eliot. It’s nice to finally meet you. Properly, that is.”_

It’s insane how he has no idea what this guy looks or sounds like, but his brain can totally imagine this vaguely shaped silhouette leaning over a coffee table in his living room, writing down this letter, pausing every couple of lines to bite the end of his pen as he wonders about the best way to phrase what he wants to say next.

A shiver runs down his spine when he leans against the counter and continues reading.

_“I’m an ER doctor. I moved to Chicago a few months ago when I got a job at a hospital here. The hours are long and the pay doesn’t really match all that you see and deal with, but if you’re in this for the right reasons, you eventually realize that doesn’t really matter that much._

_You learn to get over the exhaustion, find ways to deal with the bad stuff, and hold onto the good things for as long as you can._

_What about you? What do you do for a living? And what brought you to the lake house?_

_\- Quentin”_

Eliot smiles and thinks back to the photograph still lying on the coffee table. The man with the kind eyes. If there was a face on that picture that could match this idea of a good doctor, then it’d be that man.

He waits for his food to be ready so he can plate it. Once that’s done, he slips the new letter in his back pocket, fills a glass with wine, picks up his plate and moves to the living room to eat.

He places the plate near the photo. It happened this year, from the date on it, though it feels different. This person has already lived this two years ago. How weird is it to think that Quentin exists somewhere out there, living his life right now, in 2018, having absolutely no idea that Eliot exists and is currently reading his letters from the future?

He picks up the photograph again. There he is, the gentle-looking man, a small smile on his face while everyone else is openly laughing, getting lost in the snow like kids.

Eliot knows he could get lost in this. And, shit, hadn’t he run from the heaviness of real life before? He drowns that thought with his glass of wine and considers getting up to fill it up again.

Instead, he picks up his plate and eats his warm food while looking outside his window.

\---

**6th May 2020**

Home, finally.

Quentin’s keys slip from his fingers into the metallic bowl by the locked door. Soon enough, a furry body rubs its sleepy warmth against Quentin’s legs.

“Hey, girl,” he crouches down and pets her.

He’s exhausted, but he won’t deny her a single drop of affection.

It’s almost 5 am and all he wants is to drag his drained body to bed - where he’s sure his dog has just come from - and let it rest until he feels sufficiently recharged.

This is that weird middle-of-the-night state of mind where there are no filters and your consciousness is set loose in a sort of limbo between all the stimuli it’s gathering from the outside world and the thoughts running through your mind.

Quentin loses track of time and is only brought back to the present when his dog gives him a quick lick on his face. The feel of her wet tongue against his light stubble makes him shudder a little and think that maybe he should take care of that. Later, though.

“You’re a really good girl, aren’t you?”

He rubs her head softly before pulling back to his feet. He stands so quickly that he feels a dizzy spell go over him for a second or two. Then the world seemingly rights itself and he manages to remove his sneakers. Once he’s done with that, he sets one foot in front of the other and makes his way through the dark apartment to his bathroom.

Quentin turns on the light and starts the shower. While he waits for the water to warm up, he removes his clothes and throws in the direction of the laundry bin to deal with later.

He steps under the shower and feels the goosebumps running across his skin when the temperature of the water feels just right.

As he lathers himself up in soap and shampoo, he thinks about the letter that’s probably waiting for him to pick it up from the lake house. He hopes Eliot will understand the delay. There’s no way Quentin can drive to the lake house and back every day just so he can send him a note. Especially now, when there’s so much work to do at the hospital.

He sometimes thinks there should be an easier way to do this, but how would that even work, if they’re living two years apart? And isn’t that enough of an overload to a tired mind…

Once he’s washed away all the soap from his body and rinsed his hair, he turns off the shower and grabs a towel.

No matter how badly he wants to do it, he knows it’ll still take a while before he can get to that mailbox. Instead, he lets his feet lead him back to his bedroom, puts on his pajamas on autopilot and slips into bed.

With a deep sigh, he lets sleep take him over.

\---

**9th May 2018**

Another day at work has finished. The construction supervisor still looks at Eliot from the corner of his eye whenever he suggests moving certain workers to other parts of the project to make it all move faster, but he’s also starting to see that maybe Eliot has the right ideas to help them keep to schedule as much as possible.

The first thing he does when he parks his car by the house is check the mail. Last night, Eliot checked it before locking everything and going to bed, but there was nothing waiting for him there.

He can’t help the feeling of disappointment, but he also knows that if Quentin hasn’t gotten back to him yet, then there’s a perfectly good reason for it. Either that or the magic of the mailbox has stopped working.

There really isn’t much to do other than wait for Quentin to come over and send him something.

Today is no different. The mailbox is devoid of any letters. Closing it up again, he goes home and waits.

\---

**12th May 2020**

Lipson was right. He needed a break. Maybe this is a bad time, but he needs out for a second or he’ll lose his mind over it.

So that’s what he does. For once, he decides to put himself – and his mental sanity – first and gets into his car after his long shift. Rather than taking the road home, he drives towards the place he knows will bring him the peace he needs the most right now.

It starts to rain along the way and Quentin spares a moment to think that he doesn’t really have an umbrella on him, so he parks closer to the mailbox this time.

He slips his hood up and runs out of the car, being mindful to look at where he puts his feet, trying not to slip on the muddy ground.

As predicted, there is a letter there waiting for him. He retrieves it and quickly closes the mailbox again, running back to shelter himself in his car.

He puts the envelope down on the passenger seat and wipes his hands on his trousers before picking it up again and opening it carefully. It is slightly wet, but, thankfully, the letter inside seems to have survived the heavy raindrops.

Quentin studies the black handwriting in front of him, not really reading its contents just yet, simply admiring the gracious loops. They seem very deliberate and precise, as if the writer took the time to draw them out.

He looks up at the house, or what he can glimpse of it whenever the wipers clear the windshield of the pouring rain. He imagines Eliot, whatever he may look like, sitting on a couch in the living room area and writing him this letter. Or maybe he wrote it outside, while staring at the lake, the light breeze making the corners of the paper lift every so often.

He bites his lip and looks back down at the page, focusing on the words this time.

_“Hello Quentin,_

_I can only imagine what your daily life must be like. If your work is anything like what we often see on those medical shows (and I won’t use Grey’s Anatomy as an example, because there’s maybe a bit too much personal drama going on), then I bet you’re wearing yourself thin right now._

_As for me, I’m an architect. I like the idea of creating these spaces where people will feel comfortable and safe, be it a house or a business building. I just really like creating things that feel useful, yet aren’t your typical minimalistic four walls and a ceiling. I like it to have a soul._

_The project I’m currently working on isn’t too exciting and I’m only just getting the construction workers to trust me – they think I’m just a rich kid who thinks he knows better than anyone else there. Maybe I do know better than some of them, but I’d rather pair up my ideas and knowledge of the theoretical part of this project with the workers’ experience doing these things before – but I think I’m finally starting to win them over._

_I’ve been away from home for a little while and have only returned a few months ago as well. This current project brought me back home just when I needed it the most, I think, so I won’t hold anything against it, for now._

_You mentioned you’ve only moved to Chicago recently. So where are you right now, in my time?_

_I hope the future is treating you kindly._

_Eliot”_

Quentin leans back on his car seat. Two years ago he wasn’t dealing with all this chaos at work, people didn’t have to lock themselves home to avoid being caught in the middle of it all, and...

And he hadn’t started exchanging letters with a random man from the past.

He closes his eyes and sighs. He sits there quietly for a few seconds longer, content in letting the sound of the rain hitting the windshield calm him.

Quentin has to write a reply soon so he can shove it in the mailbox and drive back before it gets any worse. He hates driving when the downpour is almost biblical.

Reaching for a pen and his notebook, he lets his thoughts flow onto the paper.

\---

**13th May 2018**

_Eliot’s mouthing at the skin of another man’s neck. The lake water is lapping against the skin of his back. It feels nice. It’s warm out and the water is nice. The man currently making pleased noises in front of him is also nice. Everything’s nice, really._

_There are hands wandering up and down his back, fingernails scratching lightly every time they follow the curves of Eliot’s shoulders._

_“Eliot…”_

_The word comes out in a low exhale and Eliot can’t help but move closer, his own hands gripping, mapping out the contours of the body in his arms. One of them moves up and buries itself in soft, wet hair while his mouth drags upwards in search of a wet, warm mouth._

_Eliot’s about to kiss the other man when something suddenly hits him on the back._

_“What?” he pulls back from the other man, trying to look around him._

_Before he can, however, he’s hit again and plunged underwater. He tries to swim to the surface to breathe when-_

His hands push quickly against the mattress and soon enough he’s kneeling on the bed, the covers falling down to his waist. His dog barks from behind him.

“That was you?” he asks uselessly before letting himself fall face-first on the pillows again.

She comes closer and starts licking at his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I got the message. But couldn’t you have started with that instead of jumping on me?”

He pushes back again and sits on the bed, rubbing at his eyes. The sun’s out already. He doesn’t know yet what time it is, but he figures this is his dog’s way of telling him it’s time to let her out for her morning routine.

“You know,” he tells her as he slips his feet into his slippers. “I was having such a great dream… How could I possibly forgive you for interrupting it?”

She barks and runs towards the main door.

“I’m going. Calm your tits, girl.”

Eliot yawns and grabs his keys on the way to the door. He unlocks it and opens it for his dog. Then he stares as she runs all the way up to the mailbox to bark at it.

Could it be?

He reaches back for the coat that’s hanging by the front door and puts it on. He closes the door on his way out and shoves his hands under his armpits as he makes his way towards her.

“Do you think we’ll have a reply today?”

Opening the latch on the mailbox, he opens it to find a neat envelope. Something inside him jumps in excitement.

He picks it up and closes the mailbox again. He’s not going to stand here and read it. He’ll go back inside, to the warmth and comfort of his house, regardless of any contrary that his dog may have.

However, she doesn’t seem to. She quietly follows him back inside, waits for him to remove his coat again and lies down at his feet when he finally sits on the armchair.

Eliot opens the envelope and unfolds the letter inside it. It’s longer this time.

_“Hi, Eliot,_

_I’m sorry it took me so long to write you back. You wouldn’t believe how crazy the world has gone lately._

_Are you a big shot architect? Did you design anything important yet? I’m wondering if I should Google you, but it also feels kind of weird, like I’m breaking some sort of unspoken rule about this whole special communication through time thing._

_Two years ago – or around your time, I guess – I was working in internal medicine in Madison. It taught me a lot. Enough to get the position I currently hold. I wouldn’t change anything about it, no matter how many ups and downs I had to get through._

_It’s funny, you know? In a really not funny way. More like a neutral thing, a curious thing. I was having a really bad day at work, back in February. I had a patient who got some bad results from the lab that morning and I’d already seen some people coming in in all sorts of bad shape. Then I had a really nice lunch break with my mom at the Daley Plaza. We were talking about my dad and it was nice for a bit._

_That’s when shit hit the fan again. Just thinking about it is…_

_You deal with all sorts of emergencies at the hospital, you know? But it’s one thing to have someone come in all bloodied and broken and then you get to work on them, fix them and make them better. It’s a whole other thing when you see it all go down._

_This guy was hit by a bus not very far from us. All the screaming, all the panic and the blood… it was awful, Eliot._

_I ran to him as soon as I realized what had happened. He was barely alive when I got there. I knew, deep down, that he wasn’t gonna make it. It doesn’t help, though. You’re rational, but you’re also hopeful. It’s part of being a human being with emotions. It doesn’t matter that your medical studies and experience tell you this person is going to die there, on the cold asphalt, because something inside you keeps telling you to do everything in your power to save them. If there is one shot of them coming out of this on top, then you won’t waste it._

_Maybe that’s some sort of hero complex inherent with being a doctor for a living. You feel like a very human Superman, helping people who come to you when they can no longer fix what’s wrong with them by themselves._

_I did everything I could. It wasn’t enough. The EMTs arrived and took over, but the man died anyway. On Valentine’s Day, out of all things._

_I don’t know why, but it hit me especially hard._

_Back at the hospital, this older doctor approached me. She saw how affected I was by it and suggested I find a quiet place away from all of that. Somewhere I could go to and find some inner quiet on my days off._

_That’s how I came back to the lake. It used to bring me so much peace. Being surrounded by nature… even if I lived in a glass house (and you know what people say about those), being here was always a positive thing. I moved away from this place out of necessity, not because I grew tired of it. I don’t think I ever could, to be honest._

_Anyway, I came here and I found your letter. Man, was that a twist! I was confused and felt like someone was trying to throw me for a spin._

_Turns out it’s just a random architect writing to me from the past. You better settle in, because you’re in for quite a ride, let me tell you!_

_Sorry I rambled a lot, especially about something so heavy and dark. I don’t know why I did it. It just felt like I could tell you about this. They do say that it’s easier to tell things to complete strangers sometimes._

_I hope you’re having a great time in the lake house. Maybe you will grow tired of it at some point, considering I moved there not too long from your current time. I guess time will tell, huh?_

_\- Q”_

“Fuck, Quentin,” Eliot exhales. “Warn a guy.”

He gets up from the armchair, letting the letter fall back onto it instead. He walks towards the window and runs his hand through his hair. He paces back and forth for a little while, trying to tame the whirlwind mess of thoughts that is his mind.

Two laps around the living room later, Eliot makes his way to the coat he hung by the door. From the inside pocket, he grabs his cigarettes and the lighter.

He also grabs a notebook and a pen on his way to the back of the house. Then, he slides open the big window by the kitchen and sits down at the table. Opening the notebook on a blank page, he uncaps his pen and starts writing.

Lighting his cigarette, he doesn’t let himself question it and opens up to Quentin, the same way the other man did to him.

Once he’s done writing it, he gets up and leans on the railings outside, looking out at the lake. He stands there, allowing the white noise in his mind to take over.

His dog finally leaves her warm and comfortable place on the living room carpet and comes out to join him. She sits down next to him and watches the ripples in the lake water as well.

Eliot lets his hand fall to her head, petting her lovingly. He feels his heart double in size when she leans back a little bit so he can rub at the fur above her eyes.

“What would I ever do without you by my side, keeping me sane?”

When she places her paw on top of his left foot, he pretends he lives in a world where his dog understands him and communicates in the only ways she knows how, to let him know his message was received.

\---

**19th May 2020**

This time, Quentin leaves the hospital in the early afternoon. He drives home to cook some lunch and pick up his dog.

He’s itching to go back to the lake house. Part of him is scared shitless that he unloaded so much on Eliot that the guy won’t ever reply again. Another part of him is hopeful that Eliot wrote him back and didn’t judge Quentin too much for everything he needed to let out.

So Quentin makes himself busy preparing a light lunch and feeding his dog, but then he leaves the dishes in the sink when he can’t hold himself back, already too anxious to be on his way to his old house as quickly as possible.

His dog seems okay with it. She’s more than happy to jump on the passenger seat and go on an adventure.

When they reach the lake, Quentin opens the door for her and she jumps out of the car, sniffing her way down to the lake. He watches as she smells everything around her and goes for a little walk among the trees.

Steeling himself for whatever is waiting for him, Quentin takes a deep breath and makes his way toward the lake house and the mailbox.

Sure enough, the little flag is raised, taunting him.

He opens it and finds a random used envelope with a big bold “ **Q** ” on it. He can’t help smiling at it as he picks it up.

Quentin walks back to his car and leans against the hood of his car.

_“Hello again, Quentin,_

_I’ll admit that I wondered if maybe whatever mechanism allows the mailbox to make this happen had stopped working, but then I remembered you said you work in the ER._

_I had no idea._

_Don’t get me wrong, of course I had an idea of what it is actually like for you. But I didn’t really think about those details. I guess you usually look at doctors and think ‘well, either this guy is a cold motherfucker or he’s got a really good therapist on speed dial’._

_To be in the position of being able to save lives and knowing that, deep down, you still won’t be able to save them all? It’s not a weight many would be able to carry. I admire the hell out of you for doing what you do._

_I’m sorry you had to see that happening. Ironically enough, it is the one thing I can tell you I know what it’s like._

_When I was younger, there was this boy in town… He wasn’t very nice, let’s put it that way. My mother tried to shelter me from it, but she didn’t really know how to make it better. And, at the time, my dad was already disconnected from us, so he didn’t even care. I think he might even agree with some of the things this kid was saying about me._

_So one day I’m walking back home from school and he sees me and runs up to me, starts taunting me with his stupid insults. I’d reached my breaking point by then. I was sick and tired of it all. I pushed him. I didn’t even push him towards the road, you know? But he tripped and fell._

_Next thing I know, there’s this car coming out of nowhere, like whoever was driving it suddenly lost control of it._

_Logan. That was his name. He didn’t even have time to get up and run out of the way._

_I don’t need to draw you a picture here. You know how I feel. He was awful to me, but I can’t help thinking that I was responsible for his death, you know? If only I’d ignored him, he wouldn’t be on the ground, right on the path of that oncoming car._

_There’s only one other person I told this to and she’s like a sister to me. I promise I didn’t mean for this to get dark either, but I guess you are right when you say there are things that seem easier to talk about with strangers._

_However, I don’t consider you a stranger anymore. I must warn you that I’m one of those people who forge deep connections fast, if we click just right. And I have a feeling about you, Dr. Quentin Coldwater. I don’t know what it is yet, but I think we could be great friends._

_Now, to make this less gloomy for once…_

_What can you spoil me about the future? How close are we to a zombie apocalypse? And flying cars! Have we cracked that one yet?_

_I’ve also been thinking about the paw prints by the front door. It’s the funniest thing. I was painting the railings that connect the house to the shore and this dog comes out of nowhere, steps onto the paint and runs towards the house._

_She’s grown on me since (see above about how I bond fast) and I’ve kind of adopted her. I checked for a collar or a chip, but she doesn’t seem to have an owner and no one’s come looking for her, so I’m just keeping her for now._

_I have no idea what name to give her, though. Wanna help? She’s medium-size and she’s got yellowish brown thick fur and the biggest doe-like eyes I’ve ever seen._

_Take care, soft Quentin._

_\- Eliot_

_P.S. I have made some money as an architect, but I’m seriously hoping that wasn’t just you looking for a sugar daddy or something. I’d have to meet you properly to make sure you’re even my type.”_

Eliot’s letter is a roller-coaster of emotions. In the end, Quentin’s heart settles in his chest and a warm feeling grows somewhere beneath his lungs.

He chuckles at the P.S. at the end.

His dog makes her way back to him, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Quentin watches her carefully.

Medium-size? Check.

Thick yellowish brown fur? Check.

Big doe-like eyes? Check.

That whole combination was what brought Quentin to her name to begin with.

He grins and quickly circles the car to get to a pen and some paper.

\---

**20th May 2018**

Eliot leans against his car and waits for his best friend.

He’d called Margo earlier and asked if she had any plans for dinner. When she told him her schedule always had a free space or two for him, he invited her to stay over.

He wants to show her the lake house and he thinks he is finally ready to talk to someone else about the letters. That and he needs someone to tell him he’s not crazy, and who’s better than Margo to tell him exactly as it is?

Ankles crossed, Eliot looks down at the way the sole of his shoe pushes at a small pebble on the pavement. He lets his thoughts escape him and go back to the letters. Will there be one waiting for him when he gets home?

He bites his lip. He fears he’s getting too attached already. Four years ago, he uprooted his life to find himself again, after everything that went down with his parents. It feels weird to start laying roots again. Especially when he considers the possibility of doing that with someone from the future.

However, there’s something about Quentin that keeps pulling Eliot in. He’s completely enchanted by him and he hasn’t even met the guy. His teeth release his bottom lip and allow it to curl up in a smile.

“Daydreaming again, are we? Who’s the boy on your mind?”

Eliot’s smile turns uncharacteristically shy at Margo’s teasing words.

“We’ll catch up to everything later. This will be a sleepover that will put many sappy romance movies to shame, you’ll see,” he replies with a wink as he opens his arms to welcome her in a warm embrace.

“Oh! So there _is_ a boy!” she exclaims when she pulls back. “How are you back in town for like five seconds and have found someone already?”

He chuckles as he makes his way to the driver’s side.

“Oh, Bambi, I don’t think you’re anywhere close to being ready to hear the whole story yet. Let’s have dinner first and then camp out on the couch with some wine. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. He starts the car and drives away.

Hours later, they’re lounging on the couch, two glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table in front of them. His dog has found what seems to be a nice place to rest for the night by the coffee table. It only took three full circles before she finally lied down with a satisfied huff, dozing off to the sound of Eliot and Margo’s voices.

Margo has been filling Eliot in on everything that’s been happening in the past four years. There have been many hilarious stories about all the people she met and the guys who tried to hold her down. There were also some work mentions here and there, until she finally hones in on the main topic.

“Your dad was tough to work with when you left,” she says in a more serious tone, tipping her toes in and trying to get him to talk about what happened. “He was _sure_ I knew where you were and kept pushing me to tell him.”

“And that is precisely why I never told you. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I needed this. I really did. Cutting off all ties was the only way I could be by myself for once,” he pauses and his eyes find hers, betraying the certainty of his words. “Or so I thought. I missed you. I see now that I never should have gone completely radio silent on you.”

Guilt weighs heavily on his heart when Margo looks away and picks up her wine glass again.

“I was afraid that talking to you would only make me want to turn around and come back. It would have destroyed me, Margo. I wasn’t ready to be anywhere close to my dad so soon after…” he pauses and shakes his head, his throat now a dry desert land. “I needed the space to find myself and clear my head. Accept that my dad isn’t the person my mind made him out to be and I certainly didn’t want to turn into him.”

She nods, but Eliot can see the hurt that still colors her expression.

“I get that, El. I truly do, but… _four years_. Not a single word for four years? I…”

When she reaches up to try to discreetly wipe away a stray tear, Eliot finally breaks and pulls her into his arms. She immediately reciprocates, holding him tight, as if afraid that he’ll pack and leave again if she so much as eases her grip on him.

“I’m so sorry, Bambi. You’re the most important person in my life and hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted to do. I was lost and suffering and I didn’t want to turn into a cold younger version of my father. I wanted to keep that flame inside of me burning, to still be that person who connects to people; who connected to you.”

He pulls back and wipes her tears away, keeping a hand on her cheek, cradling her and showering with all the affection he’d locked up for so long.

“If I had stayed, he would have pushed me to help him out at the firm. It was already happening. I could still feel the slowly vanishing presence of my mother and he was already trying to pull me underwater with all of these projects he wanted to do together.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle and Margo puts down her glass again, giving him her undivided attention.

“That cold son of a bitch... He just went on as if nothing had happened and I was still going to the cemetery every day, because I couldn’t handle living in a world of which my mom wasn’t a part anymore. She was the only thing keeping the balance. With her gone, he was all about the work. I wasn’t his son anymore, I was just another employee and he was only too ready to go back to work, without anything else holding him back. I couldn’t live with that stone heartedness anymore. So I quit. He didn’t take it well.”

He feels her fingers push his curls away from his face, a sad smile on her lips.

“I don’t think you could ever turn into someone like him,” she states simply, as if there was never a doubt about it. Her other hand settles on the middle of his chest. “Your heart is so full of love that it could never turn to ice like that. I know you like to think you can just cut off ties like that and go away, washing your hands of all of this and us, but the truth is that you care too much. You are a lovely human being and I _adore_ that about you. You give your all to others, even when they don’t give anything back. That’s a beautiful thing, Eliot, but I’m sure it takes away from you, too. So, for once, please let me be the one to hold you when you break. I will pick up every single damn piece, even if it takes years, but don’t you ever pull away and go dark on me like that again. It’ll _destroy_ me.”

Not knowing how to respond appropriately, he nods and hopes she can read the immense gratitude on his face. She grabs it and pulls him down so that her lips can leave a warm kiss on his forehead. He closes his eyes and lets himself be wrapped up in this cocoon of fond emotion she’s created for him.

With a deep exhale, she pulls away and downs what was left of the wine in her glass.

“Okay, El. That was a lot. I need you to lift up the mood now. Tell me about this mysterious boy.”

That reminds him of the letter he pulled out of the mailbox earlier. He gets up to retrieve it from the small console table by the front door, where he left the unopened envelope next to his keys.

Margo eyes him curiously when he returns. His dog follows him with her eyes, but she doesn’t leave her comfortable place on the fluffy rug.

“So this is going to be a lot. It will sound absolutely nuts and I’m still not sure this isn’t just someone playing some prank on me, but I swear that things actually seem to line up somehow. We tested it and… it seems to be true, no matter how crazy.”

That introduction only makes her frown at him.

“El, what’s going on? Are you exchanging mail with an inmate or something?”

He leans back at that. “What? No. I mean, I think not? I would know, right?”

“Eliot…”

“Right. Okay, let me explain. When I moved back here, there was this letter in the mailbox. It was from the previous tenant. He was asking me to forward any mail of his that may have been dropped here.”

She leans sideways against the back of the couch, supporting her head on her closed fist, and tilts her head at him.

“Wait, but didn’t you tell me that–”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, moving closer to her in his excitement. “That’s exactly what I wrote in my letter to him. I told him that no one had been living here for years and that he was probably confused. I don’t know why I did it, but I just slipped the letter back into the mailbox before I could think about it.”

Margo laughed at that. “Didn’t the guy leave you a forwarding address? Why would you slip it back into the box?”

Eliot shrugs, turning the unread letter in his hands.

“It was instinct, I don’t know. I’d been living on the road for so long, this whole letter thing felt like an old language you forgot how to speak. I almost facepalmed myself when I realized what I’d just done. However, when I opened the mailbox again, the letter was gone.”

She straightens and her previously closed fist falls as an open hand on the back of the couch.

“What? El, honey, have you been watching those weird movies late at night again?”

He shakes his head and ignores the comment, carrying on with his retelling of the whole thing.

“A few days later, I had another letter waiting for me. He insisted he had the right house and that I was the one confused, so I finally went and checked the address he’d given me.”

Margo’s eyes grow larger as she starts connecting all the threads.

“The building you wanted to check that night!”

Eliot nods, satisfied that she’s starting to follow the conversation from up close now.

“Exactly. And it was crazy! I mean, I was a bit drunk, but not completely out of my mind. He was telling me he’d moved there, but the apartments were just a slab of concrete, as you saw. I thought to myself that he must be trying to prank me, but what was in it for him? I couldn’t see what he could possibly get out of me running around like a headless chicken trying to find him. I wrote another letter and put it in the mailbox again. Gone, just like the one before.”

“I think I need more wine before I can wrap my head around all of this.”

She slides closer to the edge of the couch and reaches for the bottle but freezes halfway when he speaks again.

“I kept his letters,” he admits in a small voice.

Margo turns her head to look at him over her shoulder.

“You have his letters around?”

“Yes. They’re not that many, but I have them in a box.”

She sits up straight again to face him.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go get it! I wanna read everything.”

He gets up again and collects the box from its place next to his bedside table. When he returns, his best friend’s glass has been refilled and she’s examining the most recent letter he’s received, as if she could get all the information she needed by examining the envelope alone.

Eliot sits down and places the box between them. She hands him the unopened envelope and looks down at the other envelopes and loose notes inside the box.

“I see you’ve been a busybody,” she asks as she reaches inside for one of the envelopes and a photo falls out. Eliot picks it up and slips it inside the correct envelope.

He helps her locate the first one and hands it over. She gives him the other letter back and focuses on the one he gave her instead.

Over the next few minutes, Eliot hands her different letters and notes in chronological order, adding some information about what he wrote back in between.

Margo reads it all, her face mostly void of any expression that could give Eliot any hint to what she’s thinking. He’s sure she’s seen the dates and even read the part where they both figure out their disconnected timelines, but she hasn’t brought it up yet.

Finally, she puts down the last letter with a sigh.

“Gosh, you’re a couple of nerds stuck in one of those silly romance books my mom used to read.”

“Wh-what?” he stutters in response as he picks up the letter she just read to put it back in the small carton box.

She rolls her eyes and gives him a knowing look. He puts the box down on the floor.

“I know you, Eliot. You’ve got a crush on this guy. We just need to figure out if he likes you back and then get that ball rolling.”

He frowns at her.

“Did you read the same letters I did?”

“Yeah. That boy sure has a lot to say. Even from the way he writes and his squiggles alone, you can tell he wants to tell you so many things that he’s in a rush to put all the words down before they bail out on him.”

“Bambi, did you see the dates? Did you not notice the fact that–”

“That you’re chatting up Mr. Future Man?” she interrupts, waving it off. “That’s just a detail, El,” she replies, waving it all off.

“A detail?” he huffs, incredulous.

“Yeah. If pretty boy here likes you, we’ll find a way to make it work. We’ll set up a date in the future, I don’t know. You’ll have to wait like two years, so you better not have a fallout until then, but it could work,” she casually adds with an unaffected shrug.

Eliot’s fingers grip his knees.

“How are you being so casual about this whole thing?”

She finishes up her glass of wine and places it next to the equally empty bottle. She points at it.

“Let’s see… The bottle’s empty,” she starts, counting on her fingers. “I read the letters and how you guys worked all that out by yourselves. It _did_ snow that night. You’re obviously already smitten and he sounds like a good guy. He’s a doctor, for god’s sake!”

Eliot looks down at the most recent letter. His fingernails fiddle with the flap on the envelope.

“Oh,” Margo suddenly exclaims. “Right! There’s still another one. Open it!”

Her excited energy suddenly fires up his nerves again. He does as she says. He unfolds the letter and Margo scoots closer so she can read it, too.

_“Hey, Not-Stranger,_

_You know, I've given it some thought and I'm pretty sure I've reached a conclusion that has to be the only possible explanation._

_You're going to think I'm insane for about three seconds, and then you'll see I'm right._

_So, you have to promise me you'll hold on for those three seconds, okay?_

_Okay, here we go. I'm about to blow your mind, so you better be sitting down right now._

_WE HAVE THE SAME DOG._

_No, wait, don’t discard this letter just yet! Give me those three seconds, please._

_According to the vet, she's a full-grown girl. She's like 6 years old. (That means she is about 4 when you have her.)_

_Her fur kinda makes it look like she's pretty solid under there, but she's actually skinny._

_Her big doe-like eyes and her fur are what made me name her Muntjac in the first place. I mostly just call her 'Jac, though. It seems to suit her just fine._

_And now that I'm telling you this, I'm sure you'll start using that name for her and that's why she takes to it so easily when I finally use it two years later._

_Hmm. Are we actively changing timelines here? When did our lives turn into a sci-fi show?_

_Now, the question is: why do I have her? Shouldn't she be out looking for you? Were you a bad owner? Or, I mean, will you be in your future? I hope you're not someone who harms animals. That's an immediate turn off, btw. So much for a sugar daddy, huh? You should know that's definitely a deal-breaker for me._

_Back to that more serious train of thought, though, you're not living at the lake house anymore either. If you moved, why wouldn't you take Jac with you?_

_You know, it's frustrating because, even though I'm in the future compared to you, I still have all these blank spaces that I just can't fill in._

_So, as you can see here, I don't think I could really spoil you much. The world is dealing with some tough stuff right now, but I won't tell you details. Jokes aside, I don't know how much I should tell you, if only because I don't want to make you panic when you still have a long way to go before any of it comes up._

_Let's just say I've been busy for a reason and that, obviously, we're doing everything we can to make this go away as quickly as possible._

_(This also serves as a future reference. If I go off the grid for a little while, don't give up on me. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, I promise.)_

_Tell me more about yourself. I wouldn't say I bond as fast as you say you do, but I want to get to know you better. We do have a very unique relationship and I think we shouldn't just write it off because we live in two different timeframes, or whatever you wanna call it._

_Your maybe-sort-of-friend,_

_Q”_

Margo snorts.

“Yeah, he likes you, alright.”

Eliot’s head turns to face her, a disbelieving look in his eyes, but she shakes her head before he can voice any of his thoughts. Then, her look turns soft and she places a hand on his forearm.

“Trust me, El. However this is happening, I’m sure it’s happening for a reason. Now,” she starts, getting up and finding her balance again. “I need to pee and you definitely need to write this guy a reply and be all lovey-dovey to your heart’s content. You do that. Don’t hold back, because you’re definitely charming his pants off and I approve.”

She leans down to drop another kiss to his forehead, her fingers drawing a caress across his cheek before she walks away on slightly unsteady footing towards the bathroom.

His eyes find his dog’s again. She blinks at him, her head resting on her front paws.

“How do you feel about Muntjac?”

She lifts her head and tilts it to the side.

“Come here, Jac,” he tries.

She gets up and trots her way over to him, standing between his legs. He curves and leans down to rest his forehead against her furry one, rubbing back and forth, feeling his nose brush against her snout.

He pulls back and studies her expressive eyes.

“What could I possibly do to make you want to leave me?” he whispers, a weight dropping to the bottom of his stomach.

Muntjac whines softly, pushing forward to lick at his chin, but the heavy feeling doesn’t go away.


	3. Take me apart and I’ll flow like water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot takes Quentin on an adventure around Chicago. We also meet Eliot's brother, and Eliot finally interacts with his father after 4 years of being gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from SYML's "Take Me Apart".  
> TW: Quentin's anxiety spikes in a couple of occasions throughout this chapter. He gets better soon after, though. Either way, please proceed with caution.

**16th June 2020**

It has been a long week so far, but Quentin is finally going home for the day. He has a couple more days of intense shifts and then he’s getting a few days off from work.

It’s incredible how knowing you’ll get time off affects your mood: you get excited because you get some days to yourself to do whatever you want, but you also feel yourself get more and more drained the closer you get to that final stretch.

“Hey,” he hears behind him as he’s closing his locker.

Dr. Lipson is leaning against the doorframe, looking at him with a small smile on her face.

“You have some time off coming up, don’t you?” she asks him.

“Yeah. I need to fix a few things at the apartment, though, so I don’t know how much of that I’ll spend actually resting,” he replies, looking away and hitching the strap of his satchel further up on his shoulder.

“Dr. Coldwater, you’ve been an excellent doctor so far and I’m really glad you accepted our offer to come work with us, I really do.”

He looks up at her, sensing a ‘but’ coming. She steps closer and pats him on the arm.

“However, you have this ability to forget that you’re human sometimes. You should rest. You’ve been running around for so long, you should definitely take this chance to breathe easier and recharge. You know coming back will be hard.”

Dr. Lipson squeezes his arm and Quentin only shrugs in response.

“Have a good night, Doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She leaves the room and Quentin takes a deep breath. He fidgets with his strap for a second longer before straightening himself, pushing his hair behind his ear and leaving as well.

His mind is miles away when he doesn’t take the exit that would lead him to his apartment. Instead, he drives all the way to the lake house. He couldn’t really waste too much time there today, so he makes his way to the mailbox to grab the letter he was sure would be waiting there for him.

Quentin is pleased to find an envelope there, the now familiar cursive **_Q_** on it drawing a smile from his tired body. He quickly drops a note in the mailbox letting Eliot know he’d picked it up but would still take a few days before he could come back with a proper response.

He runs back to his car and drops the letter on his lap, driving back to his apartment and thinking about what Dr. Lipson had told him.

When Quentin finally makes it up the last flight of stairs that lead him to his front door, he starts to feel the weight of everything fall on his shoulders. He walks up to his door and slips the key in the lock.

He leans his forehead against it and feels the strap of his bag slip down his arm and fall to the floor in a muffled thud. Soon after, he can hear Muntjac sniffing at the bottom of the door. She can probably feel the anxiety in him mounting up, but she’s giving him some time to process his emotions by himself.

When she huffs for the third time, he finally rotates the key and unlocks the door, picking up his bag and entering the apartment.

Muntjac takes a few steps back and lets him lock the door again behind him before she approaches, sniffing at his pants.

“Yeah, I went to the lake without you. Sorry, girl, I know how you like to go for a run there,” he tells her as he leans down to rub behind her ears. “I’ll take you there the next time I go, I promise.”

After filling her food and water bowls, Quentin heats up some leftovers and makes his way to the living room, grabbing the letter from his coat pocket on the way.

He sets his plate down on the armrest of the couch to quickly rip the envelope open.

_“Hello, Quentin,_

_I think you’re right. I’ve decided to just stop questioning everything relating to our letter exchange._

_She did take to the name, so there must be something in there, somehow. Either way, I’m sending you a photo of her and you can tell me if she looks familiar to you.”_

Quentin looks inside the envelope and, sure enough, there’s a photo of a dog inside. He grabs it and holds it up before Muntjac.

He looks back and forth with a calculating look. Jac simply stares and blinks at him.

He sighs, eyebrows raised high and eyes wide open.

“Shit, it really is you.”

He grabs the letter again.

_“Is it really her?”_

“Yeah,” Quentin replies out loud.

_“She’s sitting at my feet right now. I don’t know what to tell you. I obviously don’t know any more than you do, seeing as all of it is in the future for me and there’s no way to know. What I can tell you is that I fell in love with her over these last couple of months and I don’t see why I would ever leave her behind. I guess we’ll find out soon enough._

_As for any major spoilers, I won’t put any pressure on you to tell me things you can’t. Like you said, we have no idea what we’re doing here and if it’ll mess anything up on your side (or even later on), so it’s probably best if we keep it to ourselves._

_Now, about me, what else can I tell you that won’t make you run for the hills? You already know I’m an architect. I hope you haven’t googled me or anything. I don’t know how much is out there about me, but I know my name is associated with some of my dad’s work and I’m not really that person anymore._

_I won’t get into that right now. Sorry to bring it up and then leave you hanging like that. It’s just that there’s a reason I left the city I grew up in for a few years and I’d rather not go back to that._

_Either way, tell me, is it your first time here in Chicago? How long have you been here? If you’ve been working all the time, you probably haven’t even checked the best spots yet. I could give you some recommendations._

_I hope you’re doing well, out there saving lives. Please take your time. Your job is way more important than replying to my letters in what we’d consider a regular timely manner._

_Eliot”_

Quentin puts down the letter, focusing again on Muntjac’s photo. He’s so engrossed in it that it takes him a few seconds to realize that Jac has approached and started sniffing at Eliot's letter.

He watches her as she shoves her nose into the paper, inhaling deeply and huffing around a small whine. He lets his fingers run over her spine.

“Hey, girl. What’s wrong?”

Her tail starts wagging and she sniffs at the letter again.

“Can you smell him on this?” he asks as he picks up the letter again. Muntjac follows it, her nose high in the air, trying not to break the connection. She barks at him when he pulls it too far away from her reach.

“Do you miss him, is that it?”

When he lowers it to her level again, she grabs it between her teeth and pulls away, trotting back to her bed. There, she moves in circles before plopping down on it and pushing at the letter with her wet nose. She looks up at Quentin, almost as if daring him to take it away, and then places her chin on top of the paper and closes her eyes.

Quentin shakes his head at her and reaches for the remote control. He turns on the TV and grabs his cooling food.

He’ll think of a response later and make sure to mention the dog’s reaction in his next letter. He’s sure Eliot will appreciate it, if he likes the dog as much as he says he does.

\---

**18th June 2018**

When Eliot’s car pulls up and he sees the little red flag on his mailbox, his heart stutters.

Grabbing the letter and seeing it is from Quentin, he rips open the envelope before he even makes it to the dock by the front door. He starts reading as he walks home.

_“Hi,_

_Like I’d told you, I had to disappear for a little while. Things are really busy at work, but it’s slowly going back down and back to normal. Either that or we’ve become so used to this new normal that it doesn’t feel as bad now. But I do have some off time coming up, so it’ll be good for my sanity, if nothing else._

_I’m sorry we’re nowhere closer to finding out why you move out of the lake house or why Jac isn’t with you anymore, but something peculiar happened last night._

_For the first time since we started writing to each other, she got close enough to your letter to smell it. I guess that she could still smell you on it. She took the letter from me and to bed with her. It was still there this morning. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get it back now. I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to even try, if I’m honest._

_But it made me wonder, you know? She obviously still cares. And you say you do, too. So, what went wrong here?_

_Anyway, I only moved to Chicago when I got the job offer, and since things have been a bit upside down lately, I haven’t had much free time to go out and check out the hottest spots yet. There’s this nice little bar, though. I sometimes go there with some colleagues after work._

_Did you always live here? It’s crazy to think you’re out there somewhere and that maybe we’ve already crossed paths and just don’t know it, because, technically, we don’t really know who the other is and looks like._

_I may come here in a few days when I finally get my break from work. I’ll bring Jac and let her run around the lake for a bit while I read your letter. I may let her keep it, too, we’ll see._

_Looking forward to your reply._

_Q”_

Eliot reaches his front door as he finishes reading. As usual, Muntjac is already waiting by the door, tail wagging, coiled like a spring and waiting for him to open the door to take him down.

He slips the letter inside the pocket of his jacket and unlocks the door. This time, when she jumps him, he grabs her and pulls her up in his arms.

She licks at his face and he makes sure to close his eyes and mouth shut, but lets her have her fun. He rubs her back and her tail hits his thighs.

When she seems to grow restless, he pulls her back down and crouches down in front of her. He grabs her head and looks into her eyes.

“I want you to know that despite all your craziness, I love you and I would never leave you behind willingly. So whatever the fuck happens, know it wasn’t a choice I made.” He pauses and frowns. “Or will do. Whatever, I’m so over semantics already.”

Eliot ruffles the fur on her neck and then lets her go, deciding on getting his food ready and doing some laundry before replying to Quentin.

It’s only later that night as he stands outside, leaning against the railings and looking out into the lake while smoking a cigarette that Eliot has the idea to show Quentin around some of his favorite spots in the city – and maybe even include one or two tourist traps just for the fun of it.

“Well, if you do have some time off, Quentin, I know just the right way to let you experience this.”

He puts out the cigarette and makes a mental note to stop by the gas station on his way home and get just what he needs to make this work. He walks inside with a smile that doesn’t quite leave his face until he goes to sleep.

\---

**22nd June 2020**

As promised, it’s later that week when Quentin returns to the lake. Muntjac jumps out of the car and immediately makes her way down to the water. She sniffs around, until she stops and shyly approaches two children playing on the grass, under the careful supervision of their parents.

Both the kids and the dog seem hesitant at first, but then one of them reaches out slowly. When Muntjac’s nose touches a small palm, the ice breaks and the children laugh happily.

Quentin smiles from his place near the mailbox and lets her have her fun for the time being.

Opening the flap and looking inside, he frowns. He’s got a hefty envelope this time.

Inside is what appears to be a six-page long letter as well as a map. He pulls it out and notices that it has several things marked, all of them numbered.

There’s a curious and excited smile blooming on his face as he turns his attention to the long letter.

_“Hey, stranger,_

_I think I figured out a nice way for you to get to know both the city and I a little bit better._

_Attached to this is a list of a few places I love. They’re all numbered, so you can find them on the map I sent along with this letter._

_For each place, I’ll tell you why I thought it would be nice for you to check it out. Sometimes it’ll be because I think it’s a place you may enjoy during your time off from your very stressful job, and sometimes they may be more personal choices I made, based on good memories I have or buildings that inspired me to follow this career path._

_Please don’t feel obliged to check out everything. There are 30-something places on the list. Maybe you can even check some of them out at a later time. I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities in the future to get to those. I just thought we could turn this into a fun little adventure around the city._

_It took me about two days to do this, but I was also writing you the list as I went, so it may take you a bit less. I wouldn’t advise rushing it, though. Take it all in and let yourself be immersed in this amazing place that I call home._

_Meet you on the other side of your adventure,_

_Eliot”_

The other two pages are, indeed, a long list of places. Some are accompanied by a single sentence, reading “this place is so beautiful, isn’t it?” while others go on for lines and lines on the paper.

Quentin bites his lip and goes back to the map. There is a clear suggested path, and there were also two different colors being used, probably from the two-day breakdown that Eliot did.

He feels equal parts giddy and full-hearted right now. He looks up and sees that Jac is now nose-deep in a dark green bush on her way back up from the lake, the kids having moved on with their parents.

He takes a look at his wristwatch. Will Eliot be home now and reply before he has to leave?

Quentin shrugs to himself and rips off a piece of the envelope. He grabs the pen he’d slipped into his jeans pocket before leaving the house and quickly scribbles down a message.

_“I knew being cooped up in this glass house would get to you. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble for me! Two days to set this all up? That’s insane!”_

He throws it into the mailbox and closes the little door. He stands there and waits for a full minute, but nothing happens. He decides to take a little stroll around the lake and come back.

When he does, he finds the little red flag raised. Does that mean Eliot replied or that he hasn’t seen Quentin’s message yet? He can’t help but run over.

_“It was actually three days, because I couldn’t find a good map. But it was no trouble at all! Walking down memory lane was good on my soul. Also, spoiler alert, but there will be another surprise somewhere along that list. Don’t peek! It’s better if it catches you off guard. Have fun, sweet Quentin.”_

His heart grows two sizes inside his chest and his lungs barely have room for a few stuttering breaths before returning to normal.

Muntjac finally reaches him and her nose rubs against his knee before looking up. Instinctively, he pulls the envelope higher and closer to his chest.

“Sorry, girl, but you can’t have this one just yet.”

He slips it inside the breast pocket of his shirt and makes his way to his car, opening the door to let Muntjac in first.

On the drive back home, the radio plays loud happy songs and Quentin sings along. Muntjac’s head is out of the open window, tongue lolling and eyes closing against the soft wind.

\---

**25th June 2020**

The day starts bright and early for Quentin. He stretches languidly and goes for a quick shower. His muscles relax under the warm water. The day before he had gone through the first half of Eliot’s assigned places to visit.

If his feet could speak, by the time he made it back home, they would be screaming at him to give them a rest. And indeed he did. He heated up some leftovers and ate them on the couch while watching TV, barely paying attention to what was actually airing.

If his heart could speak, however… well, it honestly wouldn’t be able to say much. Instead, it would be reduced to a stuttering mess of overflowing emotions and immense gratitude.

Back in the present, once Quentin is done with his shower, he grabs Muntjac’s leash and takes her outside for her morning walk. He’s pretty sure it’s his favorite part of the day. He gets to watch Muntjac smell all the plants she finds and trot happily down the road.

Occasionally, she shuffles closer to other people who show the tiniest hint that they may approach and pet her. She always looks back at Quentin to make sure it’s okay and that she can trust this strange human.

It’s exactly what Quentin needs for his brain to catch up with the rest of the world. He gets to lose himself in thoughts without feeling guilty for sitting on the couch not doing anything productive – like finally taking care of the laundry that’s been accumulating and he’s been putting off, knowing he’d have these free days coming.

But now…

Now he’s on Eliot’s two-day adventure around Chicago.

Quentin gets distracted and almost trips on his own feet. Muntjac barks at him when he accidentally scares her, stomping his foot hard on the ground when trying to maintain his balance.

“Sorry, girl,” he tells her, fingers running down her spine.

She leans into it at first, but then she shakes herself off and starts trotting again, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Quentin’s insides get all warm with fondness.

It’s weird to think of her as an extra part of Eliot he gets to keep. It also feels right.

Mostly, it makes him think of what it’ll be like when they’re finally reunited. When he finally gets to meet Eliot face to face. Who’s going to keep her then? Doesn’t she belong to both of them equally?

Before he realizes it, they’re back at his building’s front door.

When he gets back inside his apartment, Muntjac immediately goes for her water bowl. Quentin walks towards the kitchen as well, opening the fridge and deciding what he could make for breakfast.

He also thinks of options for a light lunch and some snacks he can pack to take with him on this crazy trip.

He hadn’t taken Muntjac with him the day before. Even if most of the closed spaces Eliot had marked on the calendar were still temporarily closed due to the current situation, the whole trip would be too hard on her, as there’s a lot of walking around the city under the hot sunlight.

Some of the places he’d seen marked for today were definitely not going to happen for now, so he’s going to have to save them for a later time. For now, the open spaces seemed like a good idea, even if walking around the whole day with a mask when it’s so warm out will be a bit of an inconvenience, it’s worth it. Quentin will take it, if it means he gets to know the city through Eliot’s eyes.

The places from the first day were closer to where he lives, so he did all of it on foot, straight from his apartment complex. This time, however, the first one is a few miles away and he certainly won’t be able to last the day if he has to begin with an hour-long walk just to get to the first marked-up place.

So the plan here is to drive there and then do as much as he can on foot and get back into his car if there are long stretches in between places.

Packing everything he needs for his trip in his backpack, he zips it up and grabs his keys and mask.

He calls Muntjac. She immediately shows up, tail wagging and looking up expectantly at Quentin. He leans down to scratch behind her ears.

“I’m trusting you to look after the place while I’m gone, Jac. I know we haven’t done a lot of interesting things together so far, but I still have two more days off and I promise I’ll take you out. Maybe we’ll go back to the lake house for a bit, huh?”

She tilts her head, but she sits back down and huffs, the way she usually does when she knows he’s about to leave her alone.

“You won’t even notice I’m gone. I’m not even good entertainment on most days anyway, so you’ll probably be better off doing your own thing.”

She leans forward and rubs her wet nose against his fingertips. He acquiesces to the silent request and rubs her head once more before picking up his things and leaving the house, locking the door behind him.

Quentin walks downstairs, a new spring to his step, and makes his way towards the car. He unlocks the door and gets in, placing his backpack on the passenger seat. Before he puts the key in the ignition, he pulls the map from the outside pocket of his bag.

“Okay, Eliot, let’s see what you’ve planned for today.”

He opens the letter and starts reading.

_“Hello again, Quentin, and welcome to part 2 of this wonderful journey around Chicago._

_I really hope you took my advice and split this into two days (or even more, if you’d rather spend some more time in any of these places in particular. I wouldn’t blame you, really, they’re stellar spots to check out – I mean, assuming they haven’t changed much in two years)._

_Remember, you are now a local as well, so you don’t need to visit everything I wrote down on this list in the exact same order I suggested. There are so many great things out there, and this is just my slightly outdated (by two years) recommendation list of some of the things you definitely should not miss._

_To try and keep it short, I’ll be skipping some places, but I’ll gladly send you another map some other time, if you’d like._

_Ok, back to our little tour…_

**_#18 – 875 North Michigan Avenue_ ** _”_

“Okay, let’s look this up, then.”

Quentin lets Google Maps take him to a parking spot nearby. He puts on his mask and then walks the rest of the way to the building itself.

When he gets there, he pulls out Eliot’s letter again.

_“I knew it as the John Hancock Center, but they changed its name back in February, so I’m sure 875 North Michigan Avenue is the name you’ll see now that it’s already been two years on your end._

_It’ll also be 50 years next year. Or, well, it already is in 2020._

_The architecture of the place itself is quite interesting. I could go on and on about how its tapered form reduces wind loads and how its shape makes it look even higher than it already is, but I won’t bore you with all of those details. I just think it looks really cool among the other buildings in that part of the city, even if it’s not to my particular taste.”_

Quentin looks up at the tall, dark building. The glass reflects the morning light, and the crisscross pattern all the way up to the top gives it an interesting look that makes it stand out from all the other buildings surrounding it.

Looking at it from right below it gives him a sense of vertigo. He’s sure that’s going to happen a lot during the tour, seeing as part two – from what he’s skimmed of the list – seems to include the business area of the city.

_“As an added bonus, here you’ll find what they call the 360 Chicago on the 94th floor.”_

Quentin highly doubts that that will be available at this time. Still, he approaches the building’s door. Sure enough, there’s an announcement taped to it, telling visitors that the 360 CHICAGO will only reopen on July 1st.

“I guess we’re gonna have to leave that for later,” he mutters to himself.

He pulls out his phone to look up some photos taken from there and then goes back to what Eliot has to say about it.

_“The views from that place are amazing, Quentin. I know I wrote this down as the first spot of part two, so you’ll probably do this when the sun has already been out for a while, but you should definitely return here close to sunset. You’ll fall even more in love with this city I call home when you’ve seen all the beautiful colors reflected all over._

_(Hey, maybe in the future I’ll take you there and we’ll have a drink while taking in the views.)”_

The smile that takes over his face at reading that last sentence lasts him until he gets to the next number on the list. He’ll definitely hold Eliot to that.

_“We’ll be going down the Magnificent Mile now. It sort of connects the business district to the Gold Coast. I’d end up here a lot with my mom and David (that’s my older brother) while my dad was in meetings._

_Some of these places I mention are meant to be seen in passing, but feel free to enter them. You’ll find great surprises inside a few of these._

_In this case, I wanted you to take a look at this one, mostly from the outside. You’ll need only to turn your back to the 875 North Michigan Avenue building to see it._

**_#19 – Fourth Presbyterian Church_ ** _”_

Sure enough, Quentin finds it easily. It’s this cute little thing that seems to grow even smaller in the presence of the other buildings around it.

There are green vines climbing up its walls, and they could make the place look even older and more deserted, but they actually give it a more lived-in feel. It’s almost like the old house of the grandma who lives surrounded by fields and away from the big city life.

It’s almost as if it’s inviting you in with those green tendrils and leaves reaching out to you.

_“The cornerstone was laid in 1912, and the building was dedicated in May 1914. Most of the interior and exterior of the church remains “original,” so it looks almost the same as it did back then._

_Look at that beautiful carved stone tympanum above the entrance doors.”_

Quentin pays closer attention to the carved figures on the semi-circular stone over the doorway. He also looks further above to read a sign that Quentin guesses is a recent addition to the church. It reads: “Black Lives Matter to God and to us”. He smiles.

_“I remember being younger and walking past it with my mom. I would often ask her if she thought it was weird that this cute but older looking thing somehow didn’t fit in with all the tall buildings around it. She’d push my bangs back and tell me that’s what made it so unique._

_Now that I’m older, I have to agree. You’ll see that I’ve picked similar places for you to check out. The contrast between the small, simple and beautiful, and the tall, industrial-looking buildings is a theme in this second part._

_I’m not really a religious man, but this adorable little thing always brings a smile to my face every time I see it, because it reminds me of those seemingly unimportant things my mom would say that would later turn out not to be that insignificant after all._

_(Also, I hear they do a Jazz service there, so if you’re into that sort of thing…)_

_It’s one of the oldest buildings in Michigan Avenue and it’s a combination of English Gothic and French Gothic. (I’ll promise to try to keep my architect nerd at bay.)”_

Quentin tries to imagine a faceless young Eliot, gripping his mother’s hand tight, trying not to feel minuscule among all the traffic and tall buildings, wondering about how that church survived the jungle of skyscrapers growing around it.

_“We’ll take a bit of a detour from the Mag Mile for a second.”_

He follows Eliot’s directions and turns right into East Erie Street. Further down, he finds it at a corner. He hasn’t even read any descriptions of the place yet, but he’s sure this is the place Eliot wanted him to find.

Quentin would describe it as a mini museum in terms of appearance. Another dwarf amid concrete giants.

_“ **#20 - The Richard H. Driehaus Museum**_

_Since we’re on the topic of little houses that grow bigger by simply being different from the taller office and residential buildings you find everywhere else in this city, I bring you this small museum._

_It almost didn’t make it, you know? It was saved twice and, thankfully, it’s still standing (please tell me it’s still standing).”_

With a smile on his face, teeth running against his bottom lip, Quentin pulls his phone out. He crosses to the opposite corner of the street and waits for a couple to walk off-frame. He doesn’t want Eliot to ask questions if he sees people wearing masks on the street.

Once pedestrians and cars alike clear out, he takes a few pictures of the building, playing with the effects of the sunlight reflecting on its windows.

He’ll have to choose the best one and print it later to include with his letter, but it’ll be worth it.

Placing his phone back in his pocket, he goes back to the letter.

_“It's a restored 19th-century mansion and its museum focuses on the art, architecture and design from then and up until now. There are permanent and temporary exhibitions, but they usually have a heavy focus on the Gilded Age in Chicago._

_(It also has a beautiful stained-glass dome and those are just a personal weakness.)”_

Sadly, Quentin won’t get to see it today. The museum is very obviously closed.

_“Okay, now back to the Magnificent Mile…”_

Quentin follows Eliot’s instructions, laughing at some of the little stories he tells him about his time in the city.

It’s later, when he finds himself looking at the Navy Pier that he realizes he walked all the way there, completely lost in Eliot’s tales and little trivia.

_“ **#23 – Navy Pier**_

_It's another city landmark and will (unsurprisingly) always be jam-packed with tourists._

_It has existed since 1916, though its original name was "Municipal Pier". It has served many purposes in its time. It's been an indoor/outdoor place for events, it has served as a jail, a training center for the Navy..._

_Eventually, it was redesigned to be a venue for retail, dining and entertainment, and it reopened in 1995._

_As you can probably imagine, I have many childhood (and teenage) memories here. This is the sort of place you go to with friends or family (usually not both at the same time)._

_(Though I did hang out with my brother and his friends a lot at the time_ – _he had a cute friend and I was an impressionable teenager wanting to explore his new-found sexuality.)”_

And Quentin tries very hard to fight off the weird possessive vibe he’s getting at the idea that someone else was walking this path, holding Eliot’s hand, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, as the rest of the group laughed loudly ahead of them. Especially when he wanted nothing more than to have him right here, right now, telling him all of these little stories and smiling tenderly at the nostalgia from it.

He shakes his head and takes in the fresh, aquamarine air. He’s getting too attached to something he knows he can’t have. Thinking about it in this perspective doesn’t really take away that sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, though.

He’s just overwhelmed by the whole gesture. Or so he tells himself. He’ll be fine and back to normal once this is all over, he’s sure. Maybe. Hopefully.

_“Anyway..._

_This is a great place if you want to try out some of the entertainment they have to offer or even if you simply want to go for a walk (among thousands of tourists, surely) while breathing in the Lake Michigan air. Regardless, there's always something going on, and they offer a variety of things, so I'm sure something will be to your liking._

_The Miller Lite Beer Garden is a good place to stop by in the evening if you want to socialize._

_(The Navy Pier is also a good place to check out the sunset. Put it on the list.)”_

Slipping the letter and the map in the back pocket of his jeans, Quentin lets his feet take him down the pier, mind clearing.

He hears the sound of the water beneath him and the soft sound of the wood creaking under his and other visitors’ feet. The wind pushes his hair back and Quentin takes a moment to lean against the railing and close his eyes against it.

It takes him back to windy days in the lake house. The experience is so different yet so similar that his heart aches with the peacefulness he could only find in that secluded place among the trees.

Opening his eyes again, he resumes his round of the pier. It’s a surreal thing to see what Quentin is sure is a packed spot on a regular day so empty. There are still people around, of course, but the numbers pale in comparison, especially with everyone wearing masks concealing their smiles.

Yet he can still hear the joy in their voices as children and adults point at random things. There’s also a squeal of pure glee when a young man walks up behind a beautiful woman who was trying to get a picture of the lake and tickles her sides, undoubtedly ruining her picture.

The happy living picture breathes a cold whisper inside Quentin and he feels so alone so suddenly.

“Deep breaths, Quentin. Deep, slow breaths.”

He looks up at the blue sky and pulls his mask down just so he can breathe in from his nose unobstructed. Once he’s filled his lungs with the humid air a few times, he pulls it back up and grabs the map, wishing for a well-timed distraction.

_“Let’s take a walk toward the Chicago Riverwalk, shall we?”_

There are a few other passing mentions, but not anything Eliot considered essential enough to give it a number on the map.

_“ **#24 – Tribune Tower**_

_This is a Chicago landmark, so how could I possibly skip it?”_

Quentin looks up at a tall, beige tower. Back to neck-stretching views, it seems.

_“The building you're seeing isn't the original, actually. That one was destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. Then, in 1922, the Chicago Tribune hosted an international design competition for the tower to celebrate its 75th anniversary. They wanted something that showed just how important they were in the newspaper industry. They were looking for “the most beautiful office building in the world.”_

_It was a huge thing back then, trust me. There were more than 260 entries from 23 countries. The whole thing went down in history as one of the largest and most important architectural competitions in America._

_There were so many different ideas thrown in there. Someone proposed a giant Doric column, and another country went with the idea of a large classical arch based on the Arch De Triomphe in Paris. In the end, it was a neo-Gothic design that was won by two architects from New York, so the prize came home after all._

_As for meaningless trivia to keep things fun, there’s a single frog statue among all the gargoyles at the top. You’ll probably have to Google that if you want to see what it looks like, because I seriously doubt they’ll let you get all the way up there if you walk in and claim you’re there to see the frog._

_Apparently, its creator chose to do it as a joke, as he was a French descendent. I have to admit I'm familiar with that kind of self-deprecating humor.”_

Quentin chuckles, not quite sure if Eliot is just making these things up. He looks up pictures of the building and, okay, there really is a frog up there.

He still isn’t entirely convinced the story behind it wasn’t something Eliot just randomly threw in there to make Quentin laugh, though.

Either way, it’s clear this was one of those buildings Eliot chose for its history and the architectural background, which is something Quentin isn’t too versed on.

Not that it’s not interesting, it’s just something he’s sure he’ll forget about in a couple days, so... time to move on.

The next item on the list doesn’t take Quentin too far.

_“ **#25 – The Wringley Building**_

_It's such an interesting building. It's made up of two towers (one is higher than the other) connected by walkways on different floors. One of the towers, the South one, is a clock. It was based off of the bell tower of the Seville Cathedral, and the general architecture of it is a reference to the French Renaissance._

_Oh, and the towers are coated with white terracotta to make it look brighter (during the day and also night). They have to hand-wash it to preserve it, Quentin. Can you imagine being one of the people who have to do it?”_

Quentin looks up, eyebrows raised and whistles quietly to himself. That has to be one hell of a job, indeed.

_“For some reason, its shape and the walkways have always fascinated me. It also brings up memories of one of the projects I tried to work on with my dad. In the end, it was more him working on it and me just quietly observing._

_Well, I didn’t quite observe quietly, but my comments and suggestions were never taken seriously, so it was like I hadn’t said a word at all._

_I’ll always have this building, though. A good thing to think about as a possible similar outcome, had that partnership worked out.”_

It’s not the first time that Eliot casually mentions the conflicting relationship between him and his father. Quentin’s curiosity and worry twists inside him, making him want to ask Eliot all about it, but, at the same time, he feels like they’re not quite there yet.

He sees the glimpses of it that Eliot will allow occasionally, but the fact that he never seems to dig deeper either, tells Quentin that he’s still getting warmed up to the idea of sharing all that bitter baggage.

_“Maybe grab something to eat and check out the rest of the Chicago Riverwalk while you're in this area._

_(Please ignore the Trump Tower, though.)”_

He laughs quietly, puts the letter away and follows Eliot’s advice, taking a few silent moments to wander near the water.

_“You will now cross the DuSable Bridge. Careful, for she is an old lady._

_If nothing has happened to it since I've written this, then she'll have recently celebrated 100 years on your end._

_It was originally called the Michigan Avenue Bridge, but in 2010 it was renamed in honor of Jean Baptiste Point du Sable, a free black man born in Haiti who was the city’s first non-Native American settler._

_Points for diverse representation, yes?”_

Reaching the other side, Quentin finds himself standing in front of a building made up of mostly glass, from what he can see. There’s also a notice on the door letting him know they’ll open on July 3rd, but that they’re doing select walking tours starting June 20th.

He looks down at Eliot’s letter.

_“Moving on…_

**_#26 – Carbide and Carbon Building_ ** _”_

Quentin looks at the map again and sees that it’s only within a few minutes of walking distance.

He sees a tall dark-greenish thing on the spot that Eliot circled on the map.

_“Where do I even begin with this one?_

_It's another landmark!_

_It's an art deco skyscraper that is the embodiment of the 20s, really, with its polished black granite and gold leaf accents._

_This building was completed in 1929. According to urban legends, it was supposedly designed to look like a vintage champagne bottle because of the tower's dark green terracotta coating and the gold foil on top._

_It used to be the Hard Rock Hotel Chicago, but it closed in December (of 2017, that is. I forget we live in different times). A new one is supposed to take its place next month, actually. It's going to be called the "St. Jane Chicago Hotel" after Jane Addams (look her up if you haven't heard of her. She had some really interesting ideas for her time)._

_I just really like the way this building turned out, looking so fucking majestic, even if, again, it’s not my favorite type of thing.”_

Quentin looks back at it again. He’ll agree that it does look sophisticated, in a way, but it also looks… dark and imposing. It’s not really Quentin’s style at all, even if, yes, it’s quite the thing that you just can’t look away from.

He still looks it up online and… his eyebrows rise. That’s a bit expensive. Ok, it’s probably best to move on. He keeps on reading Eliot’s letter.

_“ **#27 – Chicago Cultural Center**_

_This landmark brings a lot of free stuff, so you should definitely make the most of it._

_Apart from the beauty of the whole thing (this is one you'll definitely want to check the inside of), there are so many cool events here!_

_(It has two stained-glass domes, Quentin, two.)”_

It makes Quentin smile as he walks down the street to reach the building itself. He knows before he gets there that it’s most likely closed.

Another door sign greets him when he arrives at the place. It’s to be expected, really, but he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed.

He takes out the letter again.

_“It was completed in 1897 and was originally the city’s first public library. It was only in 1991 that it became what it's known as today. You can still find the names of great writers inscribed on many of the walls in this building.”_

Quentin gets on his phone and looks up pictures of it. He doesn’t want to completely miss out on all of this. He wants to be able to write something back to Eliot about these places, even if without much detail regarding the circumstances that led to some of them being closed for the time being.

_“On the inside, you'll find mahogany doors, different kinds of marble, arches, beautiful columns, and did I mention the stained-glass domes? One of them is the world’s largest Tiffany glass dome. It's made up of 30,000 pieces of glass and it brings so much light into the building, it’s amazing._

_(Remember when I said I was going to try to tone down the architect nerd? Yeah... But I’ll promise to at least use normal people words to talk about these things.)”_

It sounds really interesting, but it also seems like it falls mostly on the category of places where pictures don’t really make it justice and he needs to see it from the inside. Sadly, now isn’t the best time for it.

Quentin adds it to the list of buildings to visit at a later time.

_“Now the next one will take up a lot of your time. There’s a lot to do and see there, but it’ll be a good one, I promise._

_You should be able to turn around and see it. It’s kind of hard to miss, considering it’s quite large and is probably full of people, no matter what time it is when you finally reach it._

**_#28 – Millennium Park_ **

_Okay, you had to know this one was coming. I could not make a list of all the must see spots and not mention Millennium Park and the Cloud Gate (aka The Bean)._

_There's a lot to do and see here, like I said, so take your time in this place to appreciate everything it has to offer.”_

This is a familiar-sounding one. Quentin’s pretty sure that’s the one that always comes up if you look up “things to do in Chicago”.

He puts the letter back in his pocket and looks for a crosswalk to lead him there.

Surely, there will be a lot of things inside the actual park that won’t be working to their fullest (at the very least), but Quentin hopes he’ll at least be allowed in to look at the place in real time, instead of staring at a thousand different tourist photos.

There's a notice at the entrance door that Quentin sees, which is currently staffed so they can make sure that everyone is informed and all the rules are enforced.

The sign has the usual safety guidelines:

_\- stay 6 feet apart_

_\- wash your hands_

_\- if you are sick, stay home_

_\- face coverings are required_

When Quentin reaches the entrance, he’s once again reminded of the rules within the park and informed of the features that are currently unavailable.

Pretty much anything to do with water and some of the bridges and accesses are closed, and the Cloud Gate can be seen from a distance.

As soon as he’s allowed to step inside, he looks at Eliot’s map and the letter and creates his ideal route to check out as much of it as possible.

_“I have many good memories here. Some with friends, some with my family, some with boys... It's a special place for me._

_As a large industrial city, the movement of goods and services was the priority. Therefore, this area used to have railways and parking lots._

_The story goes that the Mayor was at his dentist's office (probably high off some anesthetic) when he looked out the window, saw the parked cars and the railroad station, and had one of those lightbulb moments. He decided that a park would look better there._

_(It would probably also make for a better view the next time he went to get his teeth checked, so I can't promise it was a completely selfless thought, but...)_

_The planning of this park started in 1997 and its construction began in the following year. It opened in 2004, already 4 years behind schedule. I think we can all agree that people forgave them for it, considering this is what we have at our disposal now._

_Seriously, take a look around. Take it all in. It's great, isn't it?_

_It's not an accident that it became the top tourist destination in Chicago last year._

_You'll find so many things here: the Art Institute of Chicago, the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, the Jay Pritzker Pavilion...”_

He decides to start with the Cloud Gate, as it’s closer to the entrance, so he turns the page on Eliot’s letter and finds himself face to face with a picture taken in front of it. He stops walking and examines the photo closely.

It was taken in the winter, for sure. There is white everywhere and everyone seems to be wearing layers upon layers of clothes. Through the reflection on the smooth silvery surface of the curved Bean he can see people taking pictures in all sorts of poses, including a handful of people lying on the floor and pointing their cameras at their own reflection.

The main focus of the picture, however, is a woman with her arms stretched wide, a big red coat and fluffy gloves and scarf sprinkled with small snowflakes. She has long wavy dark hair and her smile is so genuinely open that Quentin can tell she’s at her happiest in that very second, even though he has never seen her before.

He tries to peek behind her to find the person taking the picture, but their face is hidden by the phone used to capture the moment. Quentin can only tell that it’s a tall, slender man with dark hair.

His heart stutters for a second before falling back into step. Is that him? Is Quentin really that close to finally finding out what he looks like only to have a phone standing in the way? He wants to see those eyes. What color are they? How much of Eliot’s emotions can Quentin read in them? And how big is his smile?

_“I went to the park a few months ago. It was really cold and windy (like it usually is here around that time of the year, as you probably already know), but I went for a walk with Margo, my best friend. We've been reconnecting ever since I returned to the city._

_(I think that, deep down, she's scared that if she turns away for a second, I'll desert her again. I won't. I'm actually glad to be back home, for once.)_

_We walked past the Bean (its official name is "Cloud Gate" but, come on, everyone – from tourists to locals alike – calls it the Bean) and we took some photos._

_I printed this one for you. (It’s also one of the reasons why it’s great that we’re doing this by letter. You can’t Google search me this way. Please don’t look me up anywhere, by the way. Sorry, I just need more time. I’ve only recently gotten back to my social media accounts and I don’t want to private them all again.)_

_Back to the picture, Margo is the woman in it who looks like a kid that’s just got told that Christmas comes earlier this year. Doesn't she look fabulous, though? I'm the one taking the photo, obviously. I know you can't see much, but... I'm not ready for you to know what I look like yet. Not when we're further apart than people usually are. ~~Not when the irrational part of me wants to go out there to find you right now, even though you don’t even know me yet.~~_

_Anyway, go do the touristy thing and take a photo there. There are many great angles you could try! I promise you won't regret it.”_

As he makes his way as close to the Bean as he’s allowed to (which isn’t that much, sadly), Quentin wonders if Margo knows about him. And if she does, does she think they’re crazy for keeping this up? And should he tell Julia about Eliot, too?

His heart aches and calls on him to get on his phone right now and find Eliot. It would be so easy, especially with him being the son of a famous architect.

He watches his finger hover over the search bar.

With a deep breath, he looks back at the picture of Margo and touches the distorted reflection of Eliot behind her.

He goes back to his phone and closes the app before he does something he’ll regret later. Instead, Quentin opens the camera app and takes a selfie with the Bean behind him.

He won’t be able to show it to Eliot any time soon (unless he wants to deal with all the questions about a deserted park and people wearing masks everywhere), but he’ll save it for later.

He decides to check out the Crown Fountain next. He reads Eliot’s notes on it as he walks there.

_“Make sure you check out the Crown Fountain. If it's a hot summer day, feel free to take off your shoes for a bit and go out there. You'll probably see a lot of kids playing in the water. They love that stuff. You will, too. There’s nothing wrong with being a child for a day when you’re in your 30s, trust me.”_

The sad part about this whole thing is that he knows there won’t be the same laughter and joy he’s sure Eliot found the last time he was there in the summer.

He’d been told that any water features were currently not working, so he’s going to have to enjoy Crown Fountain as dry as it’s ever been.

_“(I also had some photos of Margo and me in here, but I’ll save them for later.)”_

It seems Quentin is not the only hopeful soul in this thing, huh? He’s going to make sure he’ll do anything in his power to assure that they get to finally meet at some point.

He reaches the spot and looks up at the tall thin walls. He sees videos of people playing on their surfaces, pleasantly surprised at the diversity he finds.

_“This sculpture became a thing in the summer of 2004. It's made up of a black granite reflecting pool and two glass brick towers on each side of it with LEDs that usually display faces of Chicagoans in a way that makes it look like they're spouting water on people, which lasts for about 30 seconds. (That’s plenty of time for kids to go crazy at it.)_

_It was inspired by the traditional use of gargoyles in fountains, where they’re sculpted with open mouths to allow water, a symbol of life, to flow out._

_They started filming people all over Chicago in 2001 to get all of those great shots of locals, and, get this – if you’re a movie geek, this will make your heart soar – they used the same model of video camera that was used in the production of the three Star Wars prequels. How's that for fun trivia?_

_You’ll also get a pretty light show from these towers at night. (I won't say it's kind of romantic on a hot summer night, but it kind of totally is. You should add it to your list. Or not?)”_

Quentin closes his eyes and lets his imagination fill in the blanks. The never ending laughter from all the children splashing around; the adults having conversations to the side, their naked feet enjoying a well-deserved rest; the water coming out of the walls and eliciting happy squeals from the excited children and amused chuckles from smiling parents.

For one second right after he opens his eyes, Quentin can almost see it all in front of him, even feel the water running over his feet, but then the dream shatters and he sees someone taking a picture of the face on one of the glass walls.

He exhales and looks around, checking what his next stop should be. He finds a sign for the Lurie Garden. Many of the paths are closed at the moment, but he can still see some of it from the outside.

_“Moving on, if plants and nature are your thing – which, considering the fact that you lived in the lake house, I'll assume is true – then feel free to check out the Lurie Garden and spend some time there. There are so many plants and flowers, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I'm pretty sure they do free guided walks here in the summer.”_

From what he can see of it, Quentin is sure it’s a very relaxing place to hang out with friends, or even by himself. He’ll definitely look into coming back once everything goes back to normal.

He hopes that’ll be soon.

Finally, he circles back to check out the Jay Pritzker Pavilion. There are white circles drawn on the green grass. He sees a few people sitting cross-legged, engaging in conversation while taking in the sun.

The whole thing is huge, but Quentin can just imagine how tiny it must feel during a regular summer festival here, with people dancing, jumping, and overall enjoying live music while letting themselves loose and creating new memories.

_“Ah, the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, with its stainless steel ribbons and curving plates. It looks a bit much, I’ll give you that, but this is a stage for live entertainment. Isn’t it supposed to be that way?_

_The acoustics are like no other, especially because of the stainless steel plates on the BP Bridge, which add to that whole experience. It also serves as a noise barrier for all of the traffic noise coming from Columbus Drive._

_(I love it when things are not only aesthetic but also useful. That's something I always bear in mind when I'm working on a project.)”_

He looks over to the bridge. It’s closed for the time being, probably because it seems to be quite narrow. He can see the light reflecting off of its metallic structure, though, its curves giving it a snake-like feel.

_“For obvious reasons, I have no idea what sort of festivals you’ll have going on by the time you visit this place, but I’m sure that, once again, you will find something you like._

_(Just don’t go falling in love with a random partygoer you may run into. ~~I’ll be extremely jealous~~. That was a joke. ~~Kind of~~.)”_

Quentin could feel his blood rush to his face. Could this timeless infatuation be mutual?

What is this man even doing to him? They’ve never even met and yet he’s thrilled at the idea that Eliot would be jealous of someone else catching Quentin’s attention.

The best and saddest part of it all is that the only person that’s on Quentin’s mind at the moment isn’t here right now (not for lack of wishing it), and doesn’t even seem to be aware that that’s the reality of things on Quentin’s side.

He’ll have to fix it. Take that leap of faith and be honest with Eliot. He makes a mental note to bring it up in his future letter.

_“There are so many things in Millennium Park, Quentin. Please, do come back and enjoy them to their fullest. It’ll be a nice break from reality, I’m sure._

_But, for now, we’ll keep going…”_

He looks around the park once more before walking towards the exit. He’ll be back, for sure.

Back to Eliot’s map…

_“ **#29 – The Art Institute of Chicago**_

_Now, this one's a classic. Did you know it's one of the oldest and largest art museums in the country? If art is your thing – or if you just like looking at pretty (and very expensive) things even if you don't quite "get it" – then this is a good place to visit._

_It was founded in 1879 and its original name was the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts. Not shortly after, in 1882, it became the Art Institute of Chicago._

_There's a lot of Impressionist paintings and many works by Dalí and Picasso, among others. I'll be honest and say art isn't really my thing (in terms of knowledge, I mean), but I do like to look at pretty things and this has a lot of that._

_Also, like many other museums, there are some aspects of its architecture that I appreciate. Especially the Modern Wing. There's a nice balance between the way it reflects modern technology and the mindfulness of its environmental impact. Its glass walls give you a great view of the Millennium Park, so that's an added bonus!”_

Quentin's eyes trace its outside, but that’s as far as he’s allowed to go for now. He’s not super big on art, but he could imagine doing a tour of this place with someone just for their company as they talk about all sorts of things and keep moving through all the different rooms and past all the beautiful things inside them.

_“On your way out, and before you move on to the next stop on the list, please take the time to see the Historic Route 66 Begin and End signs. They’re not that far apart and they’re famous for a reason. Who wouldn’t want a picture next to the signs for the most well-known highway in the world? Especially since it begins, and ends, right here in the Loop.”_

Quentin frowns and looks around. A bit further down he sees a young girl posing for a picture, pointing at a sign. He figures that’s one of them. He wasn’t aware that they would be here, or that he’d even walk past them during Eliot’s tour.

He takes a few photos of them and tries to make them look artistic. Those will be safe ones to send Eliot if he chooses to do so.

_“Ok, once you’re done with all that, prepare yourself because the next one will blow your mind.”_

The map tells him he’ll have to walk a bit farther away from the main avenue to get to it. However, Quentin is grateful for the shade the tall buildings create.

Walking in a park under the sun after so many weeks of constantly being inside four walls and under a ceiling was starting to get to him. He pauses to get his water bottle out of his backpack and drink some to quench his thirst.

_“ **#30 – Rookery Building**_

_I'm not going to tell you that its exterior isn't impressive (because it is), but the true gem of this place lays inside the building._

_Let's learn a bit about its history first, as this is another landmark! (We should do a drinking game, seriously.)_

_It was completed in 1888 and its lobby was remodeled a couple of times, but they restored it back to the original design in 1989. Its name comes from the fondness that pigeons and crows (ravens and rooks) had for the structure that existed here before the Rookery was built._

_The exterior is made up of load-bearing walls and the interior has a steel frame. They used some fireproofing techniques when building it, which I'm sure came as a result of their cautiousness after the Great Fire._

_There are so many influences present in the architecture of the place, but the use of light in it is impressive. You'll see what I mean once you see its glass ceiling in the light court. You'll also find white marble with gold patterns which help reflect the light as well._

_Another cool thing about this space is how open they made it. It really helps the air circulate inside the building._

_Even if you're not into cool architectural things, I'm sure you won't be indifferent to the oriel staircase. It’s a true masterpiece.”_

Okay, now Quentin feels bad for missing out. He pulls out his phone and looks up pictures of the Rookery from the inside. It is so bright and truly beautiful that he feels even more disappointed.

He may actually bump this up on his list as the number one stop he wants to visit once they lift all the restrictions.

He leans against the wall of the building and goes back to the letter when he sees that Eliot seems to have much more to say about it.

_“This building gives me all the mixed feelings. I mean, everything I have to say about it is good, but, knowing what I know now, I can’t help but want to go back to that innocence of not knowing how much of a downward spiral my dad would go on._

_I was eleven or so the first time I came here with my family. David wasn’t really into looking at all of these buildings as if they were more than just a bunch of walls put together with the occasional door to let you move from room to room, so when he started getting antsy, my mom took him somewhere else down the street._

_Me? I was fascinated by all the light illuminating this place. Everything seemed so meticulously planned so that its best features would stand out. The glass ceiling, the stairs, the floors…_

_My dad saw how mesmerized I was by it. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed while pulling me closer to him._

_I remember looking up at him then. His eyes were shining and it wasn’t from all the light in the court. There was something so gleeful about it, almost prideful. And I felt good. I wanted him to always look at me like that, like he’d just found someone who truly understood him._

_He smiled brightly and took me around the building on a little tour. He told me about the different materials and why they used them. He taught me about different architectural styles and how these architects mixed them together to achieve something so exquisite and unique._

_I had a great time that day. Walking around a beautiful place while learning all about everything that goes on behind it made me realize that it’s possible to put your hands to good use and create something equally wonderful._

_Those were the first seeds, you know? I think my dad knew that, too. He started taking me to other places and telling me about them in detail. He’d even take me to his office sometimes and show me his plans for future buildings. He was excited about it and, honestly, so was I._

_There were things we would never agree on, but I was glad to have found some common ground here. Little did I know that that would also change later…_

_My mom seemed happy, too. When we got home that day and I told her about all the great things she’d missed because she’d left with my brother, she had that amused and proud smile on her face, and I saw her sharing a meaningful look with my father._

_And you know what? It’s a good memory. Looking back at it as an isolated thing, it’s one of the greatest moments I ever had with my dad as a kid. It’s also what made me consider architecture seriously later on._

_But I can’t really look at that version of my father and forget who he became only a few years later.”_

“Fuck, Eliot,” Quentin chokes on his words.

He was not expecting that punch right in his emotions. He can’t help but stand there, leaning against the building that he now knows means so much more to Eliot, and feel completely ruined for not being able to go inside and take it all in, through the eyes of a younger and more naïve version of Eliot.

He can just picture the two of them, father and son, walking around the building. The father would have that amused glint in his eyes, shoulders pushed back and an extra lift to his gait; the child pointing at things and demanding information, commenting on how pretty everything was.

The overwhelming feeling to bring the letter close to his chest is something Quentin can’t fight against. His warm palm presses it tight against him and he closes his eyes and wishes so badly he could hug the man himself.

He has his own firsthand experience with good memories that have gained their own sad connotations over the years and soured because of it. He understands. He wants to be there to offer comfort, but this “being in two different times” thing is an obstacle he still hasn’t found a way to overcome.

_“Honestly, I'll be personally offended if you can't seem to appreciate every single thing about this place, because it's fucking epic, okay? It's what architects’ dreams are made of._

_I don't have any more good words to describe this. I'm an architect, not an author, so please do me a favor and go see it in all its glory. I'm sure you'll know exactly what I mean.”_

“I wish I could say I do,” Quentin laments. He throws a glance at the building again before deciding it’s time to move on before he has another breakdown in the middle of the street.

_“There's a lot of great things to check out in Downtown Chicago – and I'm sure you've seen some great things, considering you've been to Daley Plaza already – but we'll focus on all of those later. (I’ll even give you a list of all the best places to eat – especially some good deep dish pizza.)_

_For now, let's move on to another beautiful building._

**_#31 – Harold Washington Library Center_ ** _”_

“Let’s hope I’ll get to see more of it this time,” Quentin mutters to himself as he pockets the letter again and goes for another walk. “But a library? It’s probably too much wishful thinking.”

Some 10 minutes later, Quentin sees a huge brick building with gigantic windows.

“I guess this is it,” he says, pulling out the letter again.

_“It is one of the largest libraries in the United States and it's an example of postmodern architecture. This was also born from a design competition, this time in 1987._

_Not only is it this huge red brick building that immediately catches your eye, but it also has these amazing sculptures that kinda clue you in to what this place is all about._

_The exterior itself (with a granite base and red brick walls) resembles the Rookery in some ways, and the top is mostly glass, steel and aluminum._

_There are four barn owls on the corners of the building's roof. (Owls = knowledge = books, right?) They are a modern take on gargoyles and they’re made of plates of aluminum.”_

Quentin looks up at the top, squinting against the sun. He can see a big owl with its talons holding an open book, its wings wide open as if ready to take flight.

And, okay, that is kind of cool. Is it a bit much? Maybe, but it looks awesome.

_“The inside of it is also pretty spectacular. All entrances lead to this amazing lobby. Again, much like you saw in the Rookery, there are glass ceilings to let in as much light as possible._

_Check out the Winter Garden on the 9th floor. Definitely recommend._

_Fun fact: this library was named after Chicago’s first African-American mayor, Harold Lee Washington.”_

He Googles it to look at pictures of the Winter Garden. It does have the same feeling as the court in the Rookery. Its glass ceiling and the plants in it make it feel like a big open space.

He can only imagine the peace and quiet of sitting there, in such an illuminated place, sitting in a corner and reading a book or something.

Yeah, this is definitely a place Quentin will want to return to.

_“I will now take you back to some gardens. It won’t be the last time we’ll take a green detour, though.”_

He checks the next pinned place on the map and walks towards it.

_“ **#32 – Buckingham Fountain**_

_Another nice Chicago landmark, it's also one of the largest fountains in the world and it was inspired by a fountain at the Palace of Versailles._

_This fountain is meant to represent Lake Michigan. If you look closely, you'll see there are four sets of seahorses. Each of them represents a state that borders the lake._

_Its official name is the Clarence Buckingham Memorial Fountain and it was dedicated in 1927._

_It's made of Georgia pink marble and there are 20 minute water shows every hour. Stick around long enough and you'll see one of them. They happen from 9 a.m. to 11:00 p.m., but I think the last one actually starts at around 10:30 p.m._

_I may regret this, but I’ll share a fond and funny – if embarrassing – story. When I was in my second year of college, this first year girl was obsessed with me. I mean, okay, maybe obsessed is a bit much, but she kept making small talk and trying to please me._

_Margo found it hilarious that she didn’t seem to take the hint that I was more inclined to the boys-only club, but I guess she only saw what she wanted._

_Anyway, one afternoon I was out with Margo. We had this project to do, but the weather was so nice outside that we ended up sitting on the grass right by the fountain._

_We were talking and laughing and this girl showed up again. I rolled my eyes and Margo practically rubbed her hands in glee._

_I got up when she approached – which was my worst mistake, I’ll admit – and she was already talking a mile a minute as she approached. She was so focused on me that she didn’t see our books on the floor._

_She tripped over them, reached out to grab my arms and we ended up toppling over onto the fountain._

_Margo cackled for about 5 minutes straight, tears running down her face (and I ignored her for about 30-something hours as punishment – I would have stretched my silence for longer if I could)._

_The poor girl was blushing to the roots of her hair, apologies running out of her mouth endlessly as she struggled to get out of the fountain, tracking water behind her as she got ready to run away._

_I felt kinda bad for her. I told her it wasn’t her fault and that it was okay, but she was so horrified by what happened that she merely shook her head, took off and never talked to me again._

_A few days later, we crossed paths on campus and she handed me a note. She didn’t even wait for me to open and read it, she just turned away and left. On the paper, she’d written “I’m really sorry about everything that happened. I’ll never bother you again. Have a nice life”._

_I mean, in a way, it was an effective way to get rid of her, but… well._

_Let bygones be bygones.”_

Quentin can’t help but laugh at that story. He looks at the fountain, certainly not providing any entertainment in the form of water shows, but still looking very impressive.

He likes knowing that there are some funny things in Eliot’s past, too. He’d hate to think that all Eliot has are sad memories that made him want to leave the city without looking back.

Quentin wonders about that, but he’s not sure how to bring it up to him. How casually can you just ask someone “hey, what sort of really bad and possibly traumatic experience made you pack your bags and leave the place you called home?” when you barely know them?

He scratches the side of his face where the elastic of the mask has been rubbing against for the last few hours. You’d think that after dealing with this for so many hours at work every day, he’d choose to stay home and go without it while he’s enjoying his time off.

He wouldn’t trade that for the chance to get to know all these things about Eliot, though.

He sticks around for a bit longer before deciding to check the last couple of spots on the list. He’s almost done with it and the whole thing is starting to feel bittersweet.

Quentin walks across the park to get to the next spot.

_“ **#33 – Lightner Building**_

_Ok, this one isn’t so much of a great architectural thing I want you to see, but something I didn’t want you to miss out on either. I think you’ll like it, so indulge me, please._

_Have you ever heard of ghost signs? They are these old advertising signs that were painted on buildings and were never removed. Their colors have faded with time, but you can still see them._

_I won't go into the history of this building, as that's not really the point of me bringing you here._

_This building has some of those signs, if you can tell. If you've reached it already by the time you're reading this, then I guess what first catches your eye is the amazing street art you see now covering this wall.”_

The signs seem washed out, but he can still read them, like Eliot suggested he probably could. There are mentions of a previous publishing company as well as something about corsets?

But what really grabs his attention is the more recent art covering most of the lower part of the brick wall.

It seems like all of the flowers and leaves in it are floating, with the birds holding onto the branches and keeping them all close.

The color it brings to an otherwise dull wall is what makes it extra special.

Quentin reads on.

_“It was created by a Dutch artist named Collin van der Sluijs. In it, you can see two endangered Illinois birds surrounded by many lovely flowers._

_I love this combination of old hand-painted ads that never quite faded and the colorful street art that was added later, which gives it an extra special touch._

_(Turns out I can appreciate art after all, huh?)”_

He looks back at the wall and takes it in for another minute or so. It really is amazing and it definitely brings new life to this place.

_“Don’t hate me for this, but I’m gonna make you walk all the way back to the gardens now. It’ll be our last stop, though, so I’m hoping all will be forgiven.”_

Quentin takes a deep breath.

“Ok, last stop. Here we go.”

He makes his way back to Grant Park.

_“ **#34 – Formal Gardens**_

_I bring you to another green spot, but this time I want you to focus on yet another fountain._

_This one is called 8th Street Fountain and it was also created in 1927._

_Obviously, this will pale in comparison to the sheer size of Buckingham Fountain, but that doesn't make it any less of a pretty spot._

_There were two other fountains like this along Grant Park, but this is the only one that still stands. It has a classically-inspired design and it's composed of cast ornamental concrete with exposed pink granite aggregate._

_It's small, but pretty, right?”_

The fountain’s almost coppery color makes a pretty contrast against the whiter stones behind and around it.

Quentin thinks that Eliot is right. Sure, this one is much smaller than Buckingham Fountain, but it’s still just as charming in its own way.

_“I'll admit that I didn't just point this out to you so you could stare at it – though you can, of course, take your time with it._

_I did something crazy, but I thought it'd be fun for you (and also quite meaningful for me. It’ll be almost like a favor that you’re doing).”_

Quentin frowns, but he can’t deny the curling excitement he feels growing in his belly.

_“See the stairs behind the fountain? On the left side, I hid a little something. I buried it and then placed some rocks on top of it. I hope it's still there, as I've taken quite the risk with it, waiting for you to find it two years later._

_It's nothing much, just a little something I wanted you – and also me, in a way – to have. It'll make sense once you see it._

_Now, go get it! But, please, be careful. We don't want you getting arrested for it.”_

He looks past the fountain, to the corner Eliot told him he’d hidden something. He walks closer to the stairs and finds some heavy rocks on the floor.

Quentin takes a look around, but there’s no one he can see walking nearby at the moment.

He moves the rocks to the side and starts digging. When he’s knuckle-deep in the soil, his fingertips touch something plastic.

Digging faster, he finally gets his hands around it and pulls it out of the ground.

Not wanting to be found near an open hole in a public park, he quickly pushes the dirt back into it and places the rocks back on top.

He sits down on the stairs and focuses on the little plastic bag. He opens it and finds another note first.

_“Hey. So, I hope this is Quentin who’s reading this note. If it’s not, then this is gonna be really confusing._

_If it is, I decided to leave you something to find because I’m also trying out some new things. Also, this is me trying to restore balance to the universe or something. You did send me a scarf in the mail, so now I’m sort of doing the same by leaving this here for you to get, all the way from the past._

_I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me regarding Muntjac._

_I sat down and had a big boy think about it. I still have no idea why the hell I’d let her go like that, when she found me right as I needed an extra crutch to help me return to my life here._

_I had friends and family – and they were happy to have me back after four years of no contact – but they’re different. I’m different. Things have changed and we didn’t really share any experiences for that time I was away._

_Muntjac was a new leaf. She was new to me, so she had no preconceived ideas. Most of all, she had no questions. She just took me in as I came, battered and bruised, but also feeling more put together than I ever did before._

_So, here, I’m leaving you something for her. Maybe she already has something like this, but I wanted her to have something of mine._

_I want her to know that I’m still here, somehow. I care. I don’t know why she isn’t with me anymore, two years from now, but I certainly didn’t mean to let her go._

_I know it sounds silly. I’m getting sentimental about what a dog may think of me, but she never judged me and I don’t want her to start doing that now._

_I really hope I wasn’t a bad owner._

_Thanks for doing this for me. I promise next time I’ll leave something for you. I just haven’t found the perfect present yet.”_

Quentin gulps and reaches inside the bag again. His fingertips touch against something metallic. His fingers curl around it and pull it out, dragging something else behind it.

He looks down at his hand and sees a collar with a tag on it. Engraved on it is Muntjac’s name in a looping style that makes Quentin wonder if it’s Eliot’s own handwriting.

He pockets it, a light weight in his pocket but a heavy one settling over his chest. He goes back to the letter to read Eliot’s final words for this trip.

_“I wish I could have been there with you, pointing every single one of these things at you and watch you experience the beauty of it all for the first time (in some cases, at least!)._

_Alas, it was not our time yet, but I'm hopeful that it'll happen at some point. I haven’t given up on finding a way to make this work._

_Don't forget to give me some feedback once you're done. If this architect thing ever fails me, at least I'll know if I can rely on working as a tour guide or not._

_Take care, sweet Quentin, and write soon._

_-El”_

Quentin wipes at his eyes and folds everything to put away in his backpack, not even going to try to deal with all of that right now.

He gets up, brushes the dirt from his pants and finds a trashcan to drop the plastic he dug up.

He has a long walk back to his car and a lot of messy thoughts and emotions to keep him company there.

Backpack back on his shoulders, he takes a deep breath and starts walking.

\---

**25th June 2018**

Eliot’s phone rings and he puts down the designs he was looking at. He frowns at it when he sees it’s his brother calling him.

“David?”

_“Hey, little bro. Good to know you’re back in town, though I don’t understand why I had to learn that from good old dad in an off-hand comment he made over lunch today.”_

Eliot sighs and rubs at his face, guilt and exhaustion weighing his shoulders down.

“I’m sorry, David. I’ll make it up to you.”

_“You better! You disappear for 4 years, I have no idea if you’re alright, dad doesn’t tell me anything other than to say that you are always going to do whatever you want and that I should just let it be, and now… how long have you been back?”_

“A few months. I…” he takes a deep breath and decides it’s probably best to just rip off the band-aid. “I bought the lake house.”

He hears a gasp from the other side of the line, followed by some low cursing.

_“Eliot–”_ his brother starts, but Eliot interrupts before he can go any further.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it right now. Not over the phone, at least.”

_“Fair enough. But we’ll meet and talk about this over drinks.”_

Eliot nods absentmindedly. Even though they went through so much together and Eliot resented him a bit in the past for not always protecting him from their father’s sharp and venomous tongue, they had built up their relationship in the last few years and had grown closer.

His soft heart for those he cares about will be his downfall one day. For now, he just misses his brother, so he acquiesces easily.

“If you have some free time on Friday night, you can come over to the lake house for dinner. Though, if you do, can it just be us for now? No wife or kids just yet.”

_“Of course, bro. I feel like we have a lot to talk about.”_

“Yeah, but not now. I need to get back to this project soon. What did you need, apart from reminding me of how much of a bad brother I am?”

_“You’re not a bad brother, you just have a hard time trusting that you have people you can rely on. Sorry to bother you at work, but I think this is one of those things that, the sooner they’re taken care of, the better for everyone.”_

His serious tone worries Eliot and his back immediately straightens in response.

“What’s going on?”

_“This is gonna be an awful timing thing, but dad has been acting a bit strange. More than usual, I mean. The fact that he brought you up like three times during lunch and reminiscing about the times you guys worked on projects together... I think maybe it’s time you two talked things out.”_

“David,” he interrupts, an ache starting to bloom on his temple.

_“Hey, no, listen. There’s a whole planet’s worth of unfinished business between the two of you and I think you guys have to face the pink elephant or it won’t ever move out of the way. I’m not saying he’s right and you should say whatever he needs to hear. You know I don’t believe that. I just think that he’s starting to obsess over work like he was after mom…”_ he trails off with a sigh before continuing. _“Well, he now has this idea to write his memoirs and keeps talking about his past projects.”_

He sighs and looks out of the window of the construction trailer.

_“I know it’ll suck balls, El, but if you do this, I’ll buy you all the drinks at the bar. Just, please, you speak his language more than I do and I’m worried. I also think it’ll be good for you to let it all out of your chest and hopefully take some of that weight that’s holding you back in life, bro. Don’t think I don’t know this whole runaway thing had to do with him somehow.”_

Eliot shakes his head and rubs at his face.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make any promises. I wasn’t really in a rush to get back to socializing with him, to be quite honest.”

_“Shit, Eliot. Now I feel like the shitty brother.”_ He adds with a heavy tone. There is relief but also guilt. _“I know he was an ass to you, and I can tell you he hasn’t really warmed up much since you left, but I still worry that he’s finally losing it.”_

He can hear the worry in David’s voice. He can’t help but get involved.

“Has he been working on any big projects lately?”

His brother hums.

_“I don’t think so. He’s been going on and on about this book, and he tells me about the sketches he’s found from old projects of his. I don’t think he has found the plans for the lake house yet, but it’s bound to come up, Eliot.”_

It’s like the last barrier just slips away. He knows he’ll have to face this now or risk having his dad stop by the lake house. Right now, he wants to keep the two as far away from each other as possible.

“You’ll owe me a bar-worth of drinks after this, so you better prepare your bank account for the shake up it’ll get.”

_“El, I will gladly share the drinks with you afterwards. I’ll stop by on Friday. I’ll let Amy know I’m staying over.”_

That makes Eliot laugh.

“Oh, so you’re staying over now?”

_“As if you were gonna let me drive back home at night, after drinks with you.”_

Eliot’s smile is fond and true.

“I’ll see you on Friday, David.”

_“Love you, bro. That hasn’t changed. It never will.”_

“I know,” he whispers, the muscles in his throat constricting for a second. “I love you, too.”

After he hangs up, a tight knot starts growing at the bottom of his stomach. By the time he makes it to his father’s place, his whole body feels like the very last stretch of an elastic before it snaps.

“Eliot?” his dad asks when he opens the door, looking him up and down as if to make sure he’s not an illusion.

“I brought wine,” he says instead, lifting the bottle he’d picked up on his way here.

His father steps back to let him in, still taking him in, not entirely convinced his youngest son is actually there. A few seconds later, however, he seems to shake it off, scoffing as he closes the door again after Eliot.

“Has your taste improved? I remember you seemed to be mostly interested in cocktail drinks.”

Eliot shakes his head and lets it slide.

“A lot has changed since we last had a drink together.”

He approaches a table filled with different sketches thrown all over the place. He recognizes some of them. He remembers seeing them at the house and his father standing over them, endlessly adjusting and redrawing the lines to “perfect the project”, whatever that meant. In Eliot’s eyes, they didn’t need any changes.

“Pour us a drink, then,” his father says from behind them, moving back to his desk a few feet away.

Eliot follows him with his eyes, watching him pick up a pen and start writing. He wets his lips and reaches for two glasses.

“So it’s true, then. You really are writing a book?” he asks, placing one of the now filled glasses in front of his father’s notebook.

He puts down the pen and reaches for the glass.

“Your father is writing his memoirs,” he says before sipping the wine. “Not bad. There may be hope for you after all.”

Instead of replying to his father’s dig like Eliot is sure he’s expecting, he moves to the shelves behind him. He drinks some wine before putting his glass down and pulling out one of the cardboard tubes. He reaches for the plans inside and unrolls the sheet.

“Is it going to be about work only or will you write about your personal life, too?”

He puts it back inside the tube, storing it again. He reaches for another one. From the corner of his eye, he sees his father turning in his chair, throwing an arm over its back to watch Eliot carefully.

“What do you think?”

Eliot shrugs and part of him feels like an insecure child all over again.

“Will you talk about us?” he asks instead.

His father takes another drink of his glass of wine and assesses him for a few seconds before replying with yet another question.

“Do you want me to?”

Eliot pauses and looks him straight in the eye.

“Do you?”

Strangely enough, his father seems to take offense to it. He frowns at his son as if the answer is so obvious.

“Of course! You’re all an important part of your father’s life. You certainly inspired many of his projects.”

Eliot huffs and grabs his glass again. He’s starting to see what his brother was talking about.

“And why is my father talking to me in the third person? Is that practice for the amazing biography in the works over there?” he asks, gesturing at his father’s notebook.

Something flickers in his father’s eyes and Eliot feels needles in his chest at the familiar glint.

“What, you don’t like it? A great architect like you, our own local turned big shot, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Eliot throws him a nasty look, unable to remain unaffected. His father always knew how to push his buttons.

“You’re never gonna change, are you?”

He drinks the rest of the wine and walks towards the table again for a refill. His father laughs and picks up the pen again.

“Still can’t take a joke, I see. Tell me, then, where have you been these last few years? You up and left and came up with your pockets full. Why did you go? Did you not think you could make it big here?”

Eliot turns to face him, leaning back against the table to ground himself, the fingers of his right hand pressed tightly against the solid surface. He does not want to think about everything that was going through his head the day he decided to throw his clothes in a bag and leave all of this behind.

He drinks half of his glass and studies his father as he keeps taking notes.

“Surprisingly enough, not everything is about work. Not the way you do it. I certainly never wanted to follow in your footsteps.”

That makes his father’s eyes lift their gaze from the scribbled words and find his across the room. Eliot sees confusion reflected on them as clear as water.

“What are you saying? You didn’t want to become an architect?”

Eliot shakes his head.

“That’s not it. I did want to become an architect, but not to be like you. You’ve turned cold and anyone can see that in your projects, too. I didn’t want to make it all about concrete and lines and glass.”

His voice starts to rise unconsciously. He puts the glass down and starts gesturing, releasing some of the unsettled energy locked up inside him.

“Us working together wasn’t working anymore, dad. We wanted different things and you either refused to see it or to accept it. Either way, you did what you do best and you pushed me away with your words.”

His father chuckles and opens his mouth to interrupt. However, this time Eliot knows exactly how to deliver the blow and he won’t swallow it all down like he used to.

“You want to know why I left without saying a word and chose to stay away for so long? I was trying to forget this awfully cold and detached person you’d become. I was trying to find it in me to forgive you, the way I’m sure mom tried to before it all became too much. So much she couldn’t stay any longer.”

As expected, that makes his father look away. Eliot watches his father drink the rest of his wine in silence, feeling queasy but also feeling a spark of twisted satisfaction for turning the tables in a way he never thought he would.

A few quiet moments later, his father thumbs the corner of the page he was writing on and nods, resented.

“Did you?”

Eliot frowns.

“Did I what?”

“Did you succeed?” he asks in an uncharacteristically cracked voice. The one Eliot remembers exactly when he last heard it.

Something inside him shifts and makes him want to comfort this broken man slumped over pieces of his life he’s trying so hard to hold onto. He can’t, though. He’s not that kind of person.

“Not really,” he replies quietly, his weapons having long been thrown on the ground. He never wanted to fight.

His father nods and picks up the pen again. His fingers grip it too tightly, but the nib doesn’t touch the paper anytime soon.

The emptiness inside Eliot grows and he feels the wine sloshing around in his stomach. He’s sure the sour taste in his mouth has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“I should probably go now,” he declares, picking up his empty glass and the bottle of wine, placing them down on the kitchen counter.

When he walks past the living room area on his way to the front door, he watches his father get up and grab a few sheets of paper, crumbling them into a tight ball and throw it at the wall. It flops down pathetically.

Eliot looks away, trying to keep his tears at bay, and walks outside. The door closes softly behind him and he pushes a sob down his throat.

That night, Muntjac curls her furry body close to him in bed and he doesn’t even think of shooing her off it. He’s much too grateful for her silent company as he cries into his pillow and hopes his dreams won’t be plagued with bitter memories.


	4. Can’t stop these feet from sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some brotherly bonding in this, and David teasing Eliot endlessly.  
> Quentin and Eliot want to move on past the letters, so they set up a phone call in the future.  
> Also, it's Quentin's birthday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "You Don't Know" by Katelyn Tarver.  
> Please pay close attention to the dates before each section. They're not always living the same day (two years apart) and you may get confused.  
> Also, please forgive me, for I talk about a book I have never read, so I'm sorry if the information I found online wasn't the most accurate. Please point out anything that's wrong about it, if you find anything.  
> TW: Quentin doesn't do parties well, so when someone forces him into one, he copes with alcohol. I do not condone this.  
> Quentin is somewhat volatile, so there will always be warnings for him from now on, as things get crazier and more intense. Please bear that in mind.

**28th June 2020**

It takes Quentin two days, a few dozen ripped out pages and a few glasses of liquid courage before he finally manages to compose a response. That and a long conversation with Julia about it.

Quentin sits back on his couch, closing his eyes and chuckling to himself. He stops abruptly, opening his eyes and shushing himself, not wanting to wake up his best friend, who is currently passed out on his bed. Which left Quentin with the couch and the judging stares of his dog.

Julia hadn’t taken the whole thing too well at first, looking at the empty glass sitting in a pool of spilt liquid from his failed attempt at refilling his glass for the fourth time – or was it fifth? – and raising an eyebrow at him.

When Quentin had brought out the letters, though…

He left her to read them in her own corner of the couch and went back to trying to refill his glass. He then busied himself scratching the back of Muntjac’s neck.

When Jules finally put down the map along with the latest letter, he looked up and waited as she picked up her glass and downed her drink. She placed the empty glass down and looked deep in thought for a second before she turned to Quentin.

“You know, I was going to say that was creepy as hell, and I guess it still is in a way, but the thing with the map was kinda romantic, so now I don’t know if I should warn you to keep away from this guy or continue to pursue this.”

Quentin laughed and pulled a bit too hard on Muntjac’s hairs. She lightly closed her jaws on his hand as a warning and he pet her some more as an apology.

“It’s not like that,” he claimed. Julia’s eyes grew bigger and her pointing finger hit him on the cheek.

“No, Q. No, no, it _so_ is! It’s _exactly_ like that!”

“We don’t even know each other, Jules.”

He grabbed the map and the letters, shoved them back inside the box where he’d stored them, and then pushed it back inside the cupboard before his dog decided to take any more letters.

Julia followed him into his room and watched him put it all away.

“Q, you haven’t met face to face, that’s true, but you _know_ this guy. You can’t say you don’t. Besides,” her pointing finger returned as she said this. “You like what you’ve gotten to know of him so far.”

“What?” he sputtered, hiding his flaming cheeks from her wide-eyed gaze.

“You like him!”

He threw his arms in the air.

“So what, if I do? We can’t possibly be together. Did you not see the part where we are somehow living in two different timelines? We can never meet.”

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed him to sit on his own bed.

“Quentin, how can you be so smart yet so dumb?”

“Jules, this–”

Her finger shushed him.

“So you live two years apart. Obviously he can’t try to find you in his own time, because you guys don’t know each other yet. But you could look him up and find out where he works or something. He’s out there somewhere right now and instead of going after him and romancing his pants off, you’re here, moping.”

Quentin shook his head.

“I think there’s something he doesn’t want me to find yet. He asked me not to look him up. I want to respect that.”

She groaned and fell back on the bed, lying next to him.

“Ok. So we’ll think of something else, no problem.”

He looked over her shoulder at her and shook his head again. He let himself fall back to lie beside her, chuckling at her.

“It’s kind of funny how you’re so invested in my love life.”

She immediately raised herself on her arm and looked down at him, eyes bright and mouth open. She slapped him hard on the chest.

“So you admit there’s something there!”

Quentin shrugged and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. “Maybe. But maybe I’m reading too much into it.” Julia slapped him again. “Ow!”

“You’re being stupid, so you deserve that.” She leaned back down and joined him staring at the white paint above them. “If you’re so unsure, why don’t you tell him how this whole map thing made you feel? Be honest and see how he replies.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say. I have no idea what I’m feeling. I just know that it’s overwhelming, whatever it is.”

He felt her gaze on him. He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“Tell him that, then. If you get a positive response, ask him to call you. Give him your number and tell him to call you in 2020.”

Quentin turned to look away and bit his lip.

“That’s a lot to ask. Waiting two years to call me? What if he loses interest in the meantime? What if he meets someone?”

“What if he genuinely likes you and wants to give it a shot? You can bring up all the ‘what ifs’ you want, but you won’t get any answers unless you try.”

She let that sink in, already knowing she wouldn’t be getting a reply.

“Hey,” she slurred a little, a few minutes later, the drink-induced looseness combined with that late night tiredness starting to take over. “Why don’t you come stay at mine for a couple of days? We’ll hang out for a bit, have sleepovers like when we were kids. And it’s only five more minutes you have to add to your drive to work.”

He chuckled. “You just want to be there when I get another letter from Eliot.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, of course, but who says there can only be one benefit in this?”

He sighed and promised he’d think about it. Then he left her to sleep it off and returned to the living room, where he’s been since.

It’s now an hour later and he’s leaning forward again, supporting his elbows on his knees. He considers picking up the pen and paper and letting it flow. He’s just the right level of inebriated not to feel as self-conscious, and sober Quentin won’t let him send a letter he doesn’t approve of when he wakes up in the morning, so he’s safe.

Maybe following Julia’s advice will finally put his mind and heart to rest.

He grabs the pen and starts writing.

\---

**29th-30th June 2018**

As agreed, David shows up at the lake house on Friday evening with a small duffle bag on one hand and a bottle of wine on the other.

Eliot puts out the cigarette he was smoking and jogs to meet him at the main door. He lets his brother put the bag and bottle down before he walks up to him and hugs him tight.

Moments later, David pulls back and squeezes his upper arms.

“So you’re really back now, huh?” he asks, nodding at the lake house behind Eliot. “If you’d told me my little brother would go on a four-year long journey of self-discovery only to come back and buy our childhood home, I would have laughed in your face.”

He shrugs and turns around to take it in. It looks slightly different from when they last saw it together.

“There’s some bad stuff tied to this house, but I can’t let go of all the good bits either. I was hoping to revive it and make even better memories here.” He looks back at his brother. “I’m ready to turn things around and be my own person instead of just dad’s shadow. Everyone seems to hope I’ll go down the same road and become as big a visionary as he is, but I look at projects like the lake house and want to dig my fingers into it, mold it into a better shape and give it meaning, if that makes any sense.”

David nods and picks up the bag and the wine.

“You know, I looked you up. I couldn’t find a way to reach out to you since you left without a word. Every time I called somewhere, they’d tell me you’d already moved on. But I did keep track of your progress. You did some really great things out there, Eliot.”

“Yes, but none of those things will make me win any awards anytime soon.”

“So you’re not like dad. That’s a good thing, in my humble opinion. It means you put more heart into it, instead of just coming up with a creative slab of rock that means nothing to regular people. I like your approach better, if you ask me.”

“Now you’re just being kind and not letting me feel sidelined.” Eliot chuckles and opens the door.

They walk into the house and Eliot motions towards the living room, gesturing at his brother to put down his bag by the couch. Soon enough they hear the unmistakable sound of nails hitting the floor.

They both look up and watch as Muntjac reaches the entrance of the living room and assesses the new presence in the house. David beams when he sees her and crouches down to her level. She approaches warily at first, but then she looks up at Eliot’s smile and seems encouraged to trust this unfamiliar human.

“Aw, look at this cutie! What’s your name?” David asks, petting her all over.

“Muntjac, but she mostly goes by Jac,” he replies, watching as they bond.

“You’re really setting down roots, huh? First the house, now a dog… What’s next, husband and kids?”

Eliot chokes on air.

“Calm down, Mr. White Picket Fence,” he replies, making his way to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“Wait, wait,” his brother’s excited voice follows him. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Eliot asks, grabbing some vegetables from the fridge.

“There was something there. A hitch or something.”

Eliot scoffs, overly defensive, and then looks down at the vegetables he’s chopping when he realizes how even more obvious that made it. David points an accusatory finger at him, mouth dropping open.

“Have you met someone in the last four years on the road?” David continues to pry. Eliot doesn’t even need to look at him to know he’s trying to keep a beaming smile at bay for his younger brother’s sake.

“I haven’t met anyone on the road, no. I was going through some internal issues, I had no time nor desire to go out there and find someone special,” he replies, trying to change the subject.

He picks up the board with the chopped vegetables and turns to the stove, where the pan with hot water is already waiting for them. Tipping them in, Eliot lets out a sigh.

“Okay,” his bother concedes for the time being. “Tell me about the house. Why the sudden need to come back?”

Eliot stirs the vegetables and puts the lid on it. He places the wooden spoon down by the stove and turns to face his brother.

“I think he put it on my path, actually.”

“Who did?”

“Dad.”

David looks at Eliot in silence for a while, letting it sink in. Eliot continues.

“I was already on my way back home, I guess. I was working on this housing development in St. Louis. I remember talking to some colleagues when one of the older guys brought it to my attention. He told me it was for sale and that, with a few adjustments, it could turn into a beautiful home. That’s the exact word he used, _home_.”

Eliot chuckles and shakes his head. His brother crosses his arms and waits for him to finish.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I drove back one day, about a month before my work in St. Louis was done. I checked the house and... I can’t put it into words, David. Watching a place I used to call home falling apart like that...”

He pauses and hears his brother take a deep breath before speaking.

“I don’t think I could move back to it, if I’m honest. Thinking back to our last few weeks here and mom breaking down the way she was back then… I don’t think I could just turn that off, El.”

Eliot nods and continues.

“When I went back, I found out that the guy who’d suggested looking at this house had worked with dad on a few projects some years ago. They were still in contact, and I think he might have mentioned to dad that I was helping him out. David,” he says and reaches out to grab his brother’s forearm. “I think he knows, deep down, that there’s something lacking. I don’t think he’s proud of the house at all.”

His brother scoffs and pulls away, hand running through his dark hair.

“El, he always pushed his chest out whenever he talked about ‘the beauty by the lake’. Of course he’s proud of it.”

Eliot shakes his head and pulls on David’s shoulder until he turns around.

“But that’s just it, David. I think he thought it was great back then, this glass house reflecting the light by the water. He latched onto its potential. Later, though, I think he started to realize that he’d built a house, yes, but not a _home_. Some of the words we exchanged before I left, especially a colorful one or two I may have let escape in the midst of all my anger, may have finally broken through. He’s looking at his past projects in a different perspective now.”

David rolls his eyes.

“Oh god, this is about that damn book he’s writing, isn’t it?”

“I went by the house, like you’d asked me. I saw all of these projects he’d pulled out from the archives. There were new annotations on them. Things he would have changed now.”

His brother huffed incredulously.

“Don’t tell me you think he’s a different man now and have forgotten all about the past.”

“No. He’s still a terrible father and I will never forgive him for half of the things he said or did to me. No. I only think he’s starting to look at things from the outside, for once. They are great projects, but they lack an emotional aspect. Like you said earlier, they’re blocks of concrete that are pretty to look at, but they don’t give you that feeling of ‘this is the place where I want to start a family’.”

He grabs a cigarette and motions at David to follow him outside.

“The way he pushed me towards this house, it feels like he wants me to take over. Fix it like he never could before and is now too old to even try. He won’t say it out loud, mind you. Admitting that he failed to bring this house, the place he lived in with his family, to its fullest potential is a thorn he can never pull out, a wound that won’t ever be healed.”

They lean on the railings at the back of the house and watch the birds fly over the water.

“Eliot,” his brother starts in a heavy tone. “I understand the ties that bind you to this place. I also get the whole ‘trying to fix dad’s past mistakes’ as a way to sanctify your memories of our time in this house. I wish I could go back and change the past, so that only the good images remained.”

He turns away from the water to face Eliot, his eyes shining with emotion.

“But I worry about what this place will do to you, how this crusade of yours will affect you in the long run.”

Eliot finishes his cigarette and smiles at his brother.

“Don’t worry. If it ever gets to be too much, I’ll call you. Now,” he claps his hands and walks back inside. “Let’s get back to dinner before we waste our whole night talking about sad stuff.”

Later, they have dinner and David tells Eliot about how his niece and nephew are about five minutes away from revoking his “best uncle ever” card, so he should visit them sometime. Eliot readily agrees to it. He knows Muntjac would love to meet some cute little small faces, the same ones Eliot can’t help but to admit to himself he’s missed over the last four years.

When they’re finished in the kitchen, they move to the living room, along with a glass of wine each. The TV is on, serving as background noise to their conversation.

It’s late at night when David finally drifts off from exhaustion. Eliot gets up slowly and picks up their discarded glasses. He walks into the kitchen and leaves them in the sink to wash in the morning.

Muntjac follows him into the bedroom. He strips down to his briefs and slips into bed. She jumps on the bed as soon as he’s settled and curls her body close to his. His fingers comb through her fur.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep, too. I guess the lovely living room carpet doesn’t hold a candle to a comfortable bed, huh?”

She noses at his fingers and he pets her head a couple of times before letting his arm drop beside her warm body. Soon enough, he slips into dreamless sleep.

The morning arrives with fur tickling his nose and the sunlight bringing some life into his bedroom.

He rubs at his eyes and yawns. Muntjac seems to take that as her clue that it’s time to leave. She gets up on all fours and stretches her warm body before jumping down from the bed and walking away.

Eliot follows her lead, getting up and stretching as well. He hesitates between going for a shower or breakfast first, but after peeking into the living room and seeing the mop of his brother’s hair still lying peacefully on the couch’s armrest, he decides to wait a bit longer before preparing breakfast for them.

With his head under the shower, Eliot thinks about his brother and the many things they talked about the night before. There are still many unfinished things that need to be dealt with. There are the plans for the house, there’s his father and his book, there is a tiny problem at work that he needs to deal with on Monday…

There’s also Quentin. Or there would be, if he’d said anything. Eliot hasn’t gotten a letter back since his little map plan. He’s starting to think that maybe he went too far. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got too intense to handle, but it honestly felt like the right thing to do at the time.

The idea of sending Quentin on an adventure across Chicago (or, well, part of it) seemed like the most logical response. It was a great way for Quentin to get to know some parts of the city as told by a local who’d grown up there. What better way to get to know a place than through the eyes of someone who’s made so many lovely memories there over the years?

Maybe it was too much for the other man. Maybe he didn’t have the time to do it properly. He’d said he had some free days coming up, though, hadn’t he? Well, then maybe it just seemed too personal, reading about all of Eliot’s history with these places. He probably should have held off on most of it.

He shakes his hair under the shower and then pushes it back, turning off the water. He grabs a towel and rubs at it, trying to make those thoughts disappear as well.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, hair still somewhat wet, his brother is standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes, his back turned to Eliot.

He laughs and approaches, watching his brother turn around with a delighted grin on his face.

“You really take this fun dad thing seriously, don’t you?”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that mom’s recipe is still your favorite pancake recipe ever.”

Eliot sits on a stool and leans his elbows on the kitchen island.

“And you’ve inherited this pancake knowledge from mom?”

“Well,” David starts, turning off the stove and dividing the pancakes in two plates, pushing one towards Eliot. “I inherited the recipe. The skills are all mine, built over the last few years, especially. Turns out pancakes are a popular thing with kids. Who would’ve thought?”

Eliot takes a bite out of the still warm food. They are really good, and David is looking at him expectantly, but he doesn’t want to let it get to his brother’s head.

“They’re alright,” he says instead, raising one of his shoulders in an almost bored shrug.

“Oh, you’re an ass!” David exclaims, sounding offended, and throws the kitchen towel at his laughing younger brother. “Honestly, you’re lucky our family doesn’t seem lacking in healthy self-esteem.”

He picks up his plate and walks towards the living room, flopping down on the couch. Eliot follows, sitting down beside him.

“So how was the couch?”

“Not as bad as I thought it would be, to be quite honest with you.” He watches Eliot take another satisfying bite. “See? I’m capable of that. Honesty is a nice quality to have. You should try it sometime.”

Eliot rolls his eyes and goes back to his breakfast. Muntjac approaches the couch and Eliot lets his foot rub against the side of her belly.

He’s so distracted by her and the overwhelming feeling of contentment that he almost jumps out of his skin when his brother drops his fork on his plate.

“Jesus, David! I’d appreciate it if you didn’t destroy all my kitchenware in a single morning.”

However, when he looks at his brother and sees him looking outside with his mouth and eyes wide open, he becomes worried.

“What?” he asks, following his brother’s gaze outside, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Tell me I did _not_ just see you getting mail without anyone delivering it.”

Eliot zeroes in on the raised little red flag. His heart skips a beat and he quickly gets up from the couch, almost stepping on Muntjac on the way. Sensing something distressing her owner, she immediately follows him as he runs out the door. She barks when she realizes he’s running towards the mailbox.

“What the hell is wrong with you and that mailbox?” he hears his brother yell at them from the front door.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he opens the mailbox and retrieves the letter from inside, picking it up carefully, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. He turns it over, but there isn’t anything on the envelope that gives him a clue as to what awaits him on the inside.

Is Quentin going to tell him to put a stop to it all? Did he like his little guided from-a-distance tour of the city?

“Eliot!” his brother’s voice breaks through the whirling thoughts in his head.

He nods to himself and makes his way back down to the house.

“Okay, something really weird is going on,” his brother states when all three of them enter the house again. “How did that letter even get there? I didn’t see anyone delivering it. Did I blink for too long or something? I’m starting to think that wine I brought in yesterday is better than I gave it credit for.”

Eliot rubs at his face and then shakes off the anxiety from his tense shoulders.

“David. I… You asked earlier if I’d met someone.”

His brother’s face lights up.

“Are you serious? Did you really meet someone?”

Eliot licks at his lip and looks down at the letter.

“Holy shit! You really are serious! And you guys exchange love letters? Wow, little bro, I had no idea you were living a love story straight out of a cheesy romance movie.”

He walks up to Eliot and wraps him in a big hug. Eliot should feel offended that his brother would ever compare his life to a shitty Lifetime movie, but the love pouring out of his embrace warms up the coldest corners of his heart.

After a long moment, he pulls back and chuckles. He pats his older brother on the arm and gestures at the couch.

“Oh, David. You should probably sit down. This is going to make me sound completely crazy.”

His brother sits down but frowns at him.

“What do you mean? Weren’t you always that way?”

“Oh, shut up!” Eliot retaliates, throwing a pillow at him.

The box with the letters comes out again and Eliot waits, the way he did with Margo, for his brother to go through them. He sits there, biting on his thumbnail, leg bouncing with the nerves.

“El…” his brother finally speaks up, but stops there.

Eliot takes a deep breath.

“I know, David. It’s insane. We don’t know how, but it’s definitely happening. What you saw just now,” he says, pointing at the mailbox outside, “I watched it happen a few times before. There is no logical explanation here, but I just _know_ that on the other side of that is an actual living and breathing person, and he’s been writing to me for a few months now. This person who doesn’t know the darker parts I can’t escape from and who still wants to keep talking to me. This person who, somehow, lives in the future and I have no hope of meeting any time soon.”

He laughs humorlessly as he thinks about that. His brother puts the letters down and turns to him on the couch.

“Why can’t you?”

“David, think about it. He doesn’t know me right now, in 2018. If I were to meet him now, it would ruin the chances of us exchanging letters, which would mean I would never even know to look for him out there. Can you see the paradox?”

His brother frowns and rubs at his forehead.

“So, what, you’re gonna wait like two years to go out there and find him?”

Eliot shrugs.

“What other choice do I have?”

David falls back on the couch with a deep exhale.

“That’s a lot. You have no idea what’s gonna happen between now and then.”

“I know. I can only hope that we somehow keep in contact for the next 18 months or so. Then, and only then, can I go out there into the city and try to find him and tell him who I am. He’ll know by then.”

He pauses and looks down at the most recent letter in his hand.

“If he still cares, that is…”

His brother sits back up.

“What do you mean?”

Eliot gets up and lets the envelope fall on the couch. He starts pacing, wringing his hands at every few steps he takes.

“I may have done something impulsive and a bit intense.”

David laughs as he picks up the sealed envelope and turns it around in his hands.

“I hate to break it to you, little brother, but that’s always been you. Or are you forgetting that you literally packed your things and left without a word about four years ago?”

When Eliot barely reacts to his teasing, David sighs.

“Okay, look… I’m gonna suggest something, but it’s up to you what you want to do.”

Eliot looks up, still biting his nail, and nods at his brother to continue. David lifts the envelope and waves it.

“I could read it through, if you’re scared of what he has to say. I could break it down to you gently, if this doesn’t say what you’re hoping for. At least you’ll get some sort of warning.”

He pauses in his pacing, but his heart still hammers against his chest when he looks at the message that came all the way from Quentin in the future.

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse for my anxiety.”

David puts the envelope down on the table.

“Well, you don’t have to decide now. I just wanted to leave that option there for you.”

That gets a grateful smile out of Eliot.

“Okay,” David starts, getting up from the couch and clapping his hands. “Show me the rest of the house? It’ll take your mind off things for a bit. You can decide what to do when we return.”

“Sounds good,” Eliot admits.

\---

**30th June 2020**

Quentin returns home, his anxiety leaving his nerves tingling. He walks into his apartment and finds Julia drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Muntjac sits beside her, tail wagging when she sees her owner walk in.

“Hey,” he says in a shaky voice, approaching them both.

She looks up and smiles encouragingly at him. She reaches for him and gives him a one-armed hug.

“Hey, you. Did you send the letter?”

He takes a deep breath and leans down slightly to scratch at the back of Muntjac’s ears. She closes her eyes in satisfaction, butting at his palm when he starts to pull away.

“Yeah. I’m trying not to let myself think too much about it. I admit I hesitated there. I threw it in and closed the lid. Then I freaked out and opened it again to take it back, but it was already gone.”

Julia puts down the mug and grabs his face between her hands.

“Hey, it was better this way. You sent him an honest thing, which he will appreciate, I’m sure. It doesn’t matter that you think it was too raw or something. It was your truth. Didn’t you say you wanted to get to know him better?”

He closes his eyes and exhales, shoulders dropping.

“I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is all pointless.”

She lets go of him and takes a step back. She tilts her head and frowns at him.

“Why is it pointless?”

He rolls his neck and looks up at the ceiling.

“Because,” he starts, voice raised, walking in circles in the small kitchen, “we live two years apart! If he lived in a different state or, hell, in a different country, I could just get on a plane and see him, touch him, know beyond doubt that he exists and cares. But living in two different timelines? How is that ever gonna happen? We’re not on the same page here. Hell, we’re not even in the same book!”

“Q,” she interrupts calmly. “This is happening for a reason. We will find a way to make it happen, and then you’ll both be happy. Together. In the same timeline, somehow. Ok? Just keep it going for a bit longer while we figure this out.”

Quentin stops and leans back against the counter. He hides his face in his hands as he tries to calm down the mess of thoughts and feelings inside his brain.

“Give him a chance to reply before you torture yourself like this.”

“Ok,” he concedes.

“We could take Muntjac for a walk in the park down the street,” Julia suggests after a moment of silence. “It’ll be good for everyone to get a bit of fresh air. What do you say?”

He rubs at his face and finally lets his arms drop back to his sides. He nods.

“Yeah. Let me get her leash and we can go.”

\---

**30th June 2018**

The house tour turns into a walk around the lake, with Muntjac following them around, sniffing at every bush and eyeing every small animal she encounters on the way. After that, they stop by the house to drop Muntjac off and then go out for lunch.

When they return, upon entering the house and seeing the envelope on the table, Eliot grabs it, pushes it into his brother’s chest and casually murmurs that he’s gonna go outside to smoke.

It takes him a couple minutes, but David eventually comes back outside, open letter in his hands. He hands it to Eliot, his facial expression completely neutral and not giving anything away.

“I’m gonna go back inside and check in on the kids. Come find me when you’re ready.”

Before Eliot can panic, he adds, “Don’t worry. It’s not bad at all.”

Then he goes back inside, closing the sliding door behind him, leaving Eliot alone.

_“Dear Eliot,_

_I don’t even know where to begin. I still can’t believe you went through all this trouble only so I could have a local “show me around”._

_For full disclosure, let me just say that some of the places you suggested I visit were closed (for now), but I’ll definitely try to visit them at a later time._

_I liked learning about those tidbits from your past, too. It allows me to get a better grasp on who you really are behind all the ink on paper. It’s not always easy to remember you’re a real person when all I have of you are words that could have been written by someone else._

_And you have a brother! You never mentioned him before. Here I thought you were an only child like me… this changes everything._

_I loved the guided tour, Eliot. The places you’ve shown me were amazing, and I’m really glad you have so many good memories of your family and friends there. (Also, Margo sounds scary but also fun. I’m sure you two get along like a house on fire.)_

_You were right. I will have to go back and do the Millennium Park all by itself. There is so much to see and do there that I’m sure I’ll enjoy it more if I take a whole day to devote to it._

_The Rookery was my absolute favorite. You weren’t lying when you said it’s magnificent. You’ll be glad to know that I wasn’t at all indifferent to its jaw-dropping inside (and the stairs!)._

_But it was also more special to me for the memory you’ve shared from your childhood._

_I certainly know what you mean about having these great memories that change as the years go by and lose some of its spark. I think you should let it stay in a glass case, protected from your current feelings of your father._

_I don’t have the details (nor do you need to share them with me, if you don’t want to) but I think this is such a precious moment of your life that you should allow it to live in an isolated little universe, remaining an untainted lovely memory that only fills your heart with warmth._

_That being said, I want you to know that I wished you had been there as I read about how important this moment with your father was to you. I’d hold your hand or hug you or something. I don’t know. Something to comfort you and make it better somehow._

_But apart from that unexpected emotional moment you threw at me, there were so many nice things I learned from you during this guided tour._

_I mean, I could sit here and point out half of the things you wanted to show me, but let’s just round it all up to: it was great, I had so much fun, and the only sad thing about it was that you couldn’t be there to tell me all about these things in real time._

_It’s silly of me, I know, but I couldn’t help wishing I’d turn a corner and bump into you. It’s a weird feeling, knowing you’re out there, doing your own thing, not knowing if we’ll ever cross paths by chance._

_When you told me you used to hang out at Buckingham Fountain a lot, I half expected to see you there. And then it really hit me, Eliot. Even if you were there, I have no idea what you look like. I don’t know why that got to me the way it did, but it left me wondering…_

_What if we’ve already met? What if you were the guy standing in front of me in the line to buy coffee the other day? What if you’ve walked past the hospital and we bumped into each other, not knowing who we were?_

_I don’t know what you look like and you don’t know what’s going to happen in the next two years, so even if you did know what I look like, you still can’t tell me if we’ll meet sometime between your now and my now, so it’s not like you can answer any of my questions._

_All of that put me in a weird state of mind. A bit sad and disappointed, but also a bit excited for the unknown that’s yet to come._

_Overall, though, it made me realize how much I’ve stopped myself from creating real connections to people around me. The ones here, now. People who work with me at the hospital. People who live in the same building as I do. Hell, even the people who regularly get their coffee at the same coffee shop I go to every day._

_A friend from back home invited me over for dinner and a sleepover. I may just do that, now that things seem to be getting a bit calmer. I’ll still take my precautions, though. It sucks that I can’t really tell you what’s been going on for the past few months, but I had to isolate myself as much as possible (with the obvious exception being the work I do) and that deep rooted loneliness is starting to get to me hard._

_I love my work – you know this, as I’ve told you before – but lately it’s been so tiring and overwhelming that I can’t help but miss the lake house. I feel like, even if I had a terrible day and wasn’t looking forward to the long drive back home, the second I got there and locked the door behind me, my mind would completely shut down from the world._

_I miss the calmness of it. The wind rustling the leaves of the trees around the lake. Shit, I even miss the ones that would leave all those old brown leaves everywhere that were such a pain to clean later._

_Do you know they took down the trees in this area to build this apartment complex and then never replaced them?_

_Anyway, this is getting out of hand, so I should probably start to wrap it up._

_Basically, I loved the map you sent me. The only reason I didn’t write this sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to even tell you that without it sounding like a random “oh, that? That was good, sure” sort of passing comment. I really did love it and I hope you know that. The only downside to it was that it made me feel sad, somewhat disappointed. Not because the tour itself wasn’t good, but because I wanted you to be there with me and I felt like I missed you. That’s weird, though, right? I mean, we never even met, so how can I miss you?_

_I’m also a bit tipsy as I’m writing this, so I’m sorry if the writing looks a bit skewed. And if I’m not making too much sense. Just know that it meant a lot to me and that I feel somehow closer to you now._

_(Also, if you’re reading this, it means that a much sober version of myself read this through and decided it was good enough for you to read it, so I must not regret much of it.)_

_Take care of yourself, Eliot. I sincerely hope we get to meet each other face to face one day._

_Q_

_P.S. Jac loved her present.”_

David looks up when he hears the sliding door open. He watches as Eliot walks back inside, frowning.

“I’m gonna need to borrow your truck,” is all Eliot says, making David frown, too.

“Wait, you can’t go meet him right now, right? You told me he doesn’t know who you are yet. Besides, isn’t he living elsewhere still? I mean, El, this–”

“No,” Eliot interrupts. “That’s not it. I’m going to get a tree from near the lake and move it to his street.”

His older brother stands in silence, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

“What– I– When did you become this Disney prince, doing this romantic shit for your… well, your other prince, in this case.”

Eliot’s shoulders lower and he looks away.

“It’s not like that, David. You read the letter. I just want to make it better for him in the future.”

David chuckles and scratches at his chin.

“Okay. How will we make this work, though? You think they won’t just remove it again after you plant it in front of that construction site?”

Eliot shrugs, approaching the kitchen counter with the fruit basket on it.

“We might stand a chance if we plant it on the outside of the hoarding panels.”

“Oh, it’s a _we_ now? Don’t pout, come on. You know I’m joking. I’m all for helping my little bro woo his future prince.”

Eliot grabs an apple from the basket and throws it at his brother. David reacts fast and catches it, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

“Ok, let’s go get dirty, then!”

“That sounded so wrong,” Eliot complains, grabbing an apple for himself before leaving the room to locate his shovel and get things rolling.

\---

**30th June**

Quentin, Julia and Muntjac’s walk was cut shorter when the clouds started rolling in.

It started pouring just as they rounded the corner and started walking towards Quentin’s building.

Muntjac pulls on the leash and Quentin is forced to run to catch up.

“What the…”

He barely hears Julia’s voice over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. He looks over his shoulder at her, but she’s stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, completely stunned.

His hold on the leash slips and he worries she’ll run away, but Muntjac stops abruptly instead. She lowers her head and squints at him through the raindrops. He looks back at Julia.

“What?” he yells over the growing downpour.

She raises her arm and points at the entrance of the building.

“That wasn’t there before we left, was it?” she asks instead.

Quentin turns around again and blinks. The water keeps raining down on him, but he’s frozen.

“Oh, my God,” he starts, heartbeat picking up and feet moving.

Muntjac barks and makes her way towards the tall tree now standing on the sidewalk in front of his building.

“I can’t,” he tries, but his thoughts dissolve into loud laughter, mixed in with uncontrollable sobbing.

When he’s finally standing under the canopy of the tree, he reaches out to touch its bark. Before he does, though, he inhales fast and his fingers stop an inch away from it.

Carved on it is an elegant _Q_.

“Q?” Julia asks from behind him. Another sob escapes his throat. Muntjac whines as she sniffs at the tree, tail wagging.

“He read my letter,” he whispers, letting his fingertips follow the curved shape of the letter.

Julia comes closer to see what he’s looking at and Quentin hears her surprised intake of breath.

“Holy shit, Q!”

“I know!” he cries, shivering from the cold rain and also something else he can’t even pinpoint anymore.

“Does this mean you can change the past? That’s…”

“Awesome and extremely dangerous?” he suggests.

“Exactly,” she replies, eyes glued to the carved _Q_ that Quentin can’t stop touching.

A moment later, Julia slaps him on the arm and he flinches away, confused.

“What was that for?”

“Do you seriously need any more proof that this guy is head over heels for you? Tomorrow, I’m driving you to the damn lake house myself and _then_ we’ll go back to mine.”

Quentin looks back at the tree, itching to touch the carving again. Julia bends down to pick up the dog leash and pulls Muntjac close.

“Ok, lover boy, let’s get you inside and warm for now. This is not gonna work out for anyone if you get sick and die on us.”

Quentin chuckles, wiping away all the water from his face – now a mix of rain and tears.

“Always so dramatic…”

\---

**1st July 2018**

“Don’t forget to find some time in your schedule to drop by and visit the kids,” David says as he puts his bag in the trunk of his car.

Eliot smiles and nods. David walks up to him and pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’m here for you. For anything, ok? Don’t you ever run away from us again! And keep me posted on anything going on with your prince, yeah?”

Eliot pulls back and pushes his shoulder lightheartedly.

“Drive safe, okay? Let me know when you get home.”

“Sure. Take care, little brother.”

Eliot stands there for a few moments later, watching his brother drive away.

He feels so much lighter. He feels bad for leaving everyone behind without a word, but coming back when he’s in a better mind space and reconnecting with them again has lifted an enormous weight off his shoulders.

He could say he’s actually happy now.

Muntjac’s barking brings him out of his thoughts. He looks back and sees he’s got mail. His heart stutters.

There’s only one thing missing that could make him even happier at this point.

He doesn’t run towards it, but his steps may be a bit faster than usual. When he peeks inside, he sees a small post-it note.

_“You’re making me feel some very stupid and intense things for you.”_

He doesn’t fight off the grin taking over his face.

Eliot runs back home and grabs the first piece of paper he finds and a pen, and returns to the mailbox.

_“Does that mean they didn’t take down the tree?”_ he writes quickly and stuffs it inside the mailbox.

He waits, heart beating wildly. The little red flag goes up not even a full minute later.

_“My neighbors will probably scratch their heads at it for a while. Also, my friend was a bit worried when I didn’t want to let go of the tree. She’s actually sitting with me right now, reading over my shoulder. Say hi to Julia!”_

Eliot smiles. So Quentin does have someone on the other side who’s aware of this whole thing, too.

\---

**1st July 2020**

Quentin opens the mailbox to retrieve the latest note.

_“Hi, Julia!”_

Julia jumps back. “Oh my god. It’s real.”

Quentin lets his arms drop and raises his eyebrow at her.

“I know, I know, Q, but I guess it didn’t really sink in until I saw my name just now. Holy shit! This is so epic! They’ll write stories about you!”

Quentin pulls the note closer to him, feeling strangely defensive and possessive now.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be telling the whole world about this.”

He keeps reading.

_“So you’re telling your friends now? Don’t worry, I told Margo, too. And David. The latter wasn’t really planned. He was there when I got your last letter and the poor guy almost had a heart attack while having breakfast. He was sitting on my couch when your letter came in._

_He thought the tree idea was crazy and we’d go through all that trouble for nothing. You should send me a picture of the tree so I can throw it in his face._

_Though, to be honest, I’m not sure that’s not gonna end up being worse. He keeps teasing me, saying this is some Disney fairytale shit._

_He now refers to you as my prince. Sorry about that. I have zero control over the insanity that comes out of his mouth.”_

“Aw, Q!” Julia gushes next to him. “That’s so cute! You’re like two princes in this epic love story, who are trying to be together and doing their best to overcome this massive obstacle standing in your way!”

Quentin rolls his eyes and reaches for his notebook to rip another page.

_“So are you in distress? Must I save you so we can have our happy ever after?”_

It was bold and his anxiety spiked a little, but Julia sent him an encouraging smile coupled with two thumbs up, so he sent it before he could second guess it. He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

_“I don’t know. Are you willing to fight time itself for me?”_

“Ugh, ok. You’re getting to that level of stupid infatuation that’s making me jealous. Why didn’t _I_ get letters from a mysterious loving guy?”

Quentin chuckles.

“You wouldn’t want to be suffering like this. It’s all fun and cute and then you realize that you can’t actually do anything about it. I mean, not that I think long-distance relationships don’t work or something, I just… I want to be with him, you know? Feel him there, next to me.”

Julia looks like she’s going to burst into more cooing, but she gets it under control.

“You really want to give this guy a try, huh?”

Quentin sighs and puts Eliot’s note down.

“It’s the one thing I want the most right now, but I can’t make it work the way I want it to.”

He looks unsure for a second and then he looks at Julia, eyes misty and vulnerable.

“If there was a way, do you think he’d want to try it, too?”

She reaches over and takes his hand between hers.

“Quentin, the guy planted a tree in front of your building because you told him you missed that from your old place. If you still don’t believe it, try something else. What can he do all the way from 2018 for you?”

Quentin looks around, lost in thought. Julia leaves him to it and goes on a walk around the lake with Muntjac.

Moments later, another note comes through.

_“Hey, was that too much? It doesn’t have to mean anything, you know? I know this situation isn’t ideal and I wouldn’t expect anything of you. You don’t need to feel like you owe me anything, ok?”_

Quentin frowns. He grabs the pen and paper and scribbles down quickly, feeling suddenly offended.

\---

**1st July 2018**

Eliot is pacing in front of the mailbox, one hand tucked below his armpit and the other supporting his jaw.

Then the red flag goes up.

_“Not at all. Serious time here, if I could find a way to be with you right now, I would. I don’t really know what that means yet, and I don’t think I’m ready to even go there, considering the situation we’re in, but if I knew of a way to make this work, I’d definitely do it. Would you?”_

Eliot feels warm all over.

_“Yes,”_ he writes. _“I would push myself through this damn mailbox if I thought I would fit. Alas, we’ll have to find another way. But rest assured that I would try anything to finally get to see you.”_

He sends it and waits. Moments later, he gets another note.

_“Ok. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I have a favor to ask you._

_A couple of weeks from now (in your time) I lost a special book at a café by the train station. I must have left it behind when I picked up my things and left to make it in time to catch my train._

_I remember I dropped things all over the floor and some people helped me gather everything._

_When I came back a few days later, I asked the staff if someone had found it and handed it to them, but they told me there was no book there left for me._

_If I tell you when and where that was, do you think you could try to find it for me?_

_My father gave it to me before he died and it wouldn’t be the same thing to just go and find another copy of it.”_

\---

**16th July 2018**

“Hey,” David says as he slides into the booth where Eliot’s already sitting.

“Hey. Did you have trouble finding a parking spot?”

David shrugs as he picks up the menu on the table.

“Google helped. So what brought us here?”

Eliot slides Quentin’s letter over to him. When his brother reads what’s on it, he starts stretching his neck and looking around the place. Eliot kicks him under the table.

“Hey!”

“You’re not being subtle at all.”

David leans over the table and lowers his voice.

“We’re meeting him? Right now? I thought you couldn’t approach him yet.”

Eliot shakes his head and takes the letter back, sliding it into the pocket of his pants.

“No. I’m just here to pick up the book. I can’t interact yet.”

David falls back on his seat and picks up the menu again.

“How will you even know who he is?”

Eliot shrugs, pushing the menu down until it’s flat on the table and they can both look at it.

“He’ll be whoever leaves a book behind.”

“El–”

“I think this here is their specialty,” he interrupts, pointing at the menu.

David nods. “Ok, we’ll do it your way. When is he supposed to be here, anyway?”

“He said he had lunch here before he got on the train, so he should be walking in at any second. Or he’s already inside.”

He nudges David’s foot under the table when it looks like his brother is going to start looking around again.

“Why would you even look around? You don’t even–”

“Yeah, yeah,” David cuts him off, waving him off and looking back at the menu. “It’s stupid, I know. I have no idea what he looks like, so I couldn’t find him here. It was just instinct.”

Eliot can totally understand that. When he arrived, he took a look around, trying not to be too obvious. He saw a few people having lunch in other booths already.

He zeroed in on a couple, not far from where he is sitting now. Unfortunately, the man is sitting with his back to Eliot, so he can’t really see his face, but the woman is a beautiful blond with black rimmed glasses. They seem to be having a pleasant conversation.

Eliot and David order their food and Eliot lets himself focus on what David tells him about his work, his life back home, and, of course, his kids.

It’s nice to hear from them again. David had called when he’d arrived home and passed them the phone. Eliot had lounged on the couch, petting Muntjac absentmindedly, as he listened to his nephew and niece telling him all about the greatest things they’d been up to in the four years he was away.

They also made him promise to go visit in two weeks, when their parents would both be on vacation.

He’s laughing at what David is saying when the couple finally gets up and starts picking up their things.

Eliot watches as the man looks at his watch and seems to panic, immediately picking up his jacket and his bags in a rush.

He leans forward and gives the woman a lingering kiss before he turns around and makes it for the door. He runs past Eliot’s table right when the strap of his bag falls and some of his things tumble out of it.

Eliot is out of his seat in a second, crouching down to help him pick everything up. He hears David inhale in surprise, apparently connecting all the dots. He leans down to help as well.

“Thank you so much,” the man says, voice softer than Eliot expected, and starts shoving everything Eliot and David hand him over inside his bag.

He looks up at Eliot, placing the strap of his bag on his shoulder again and pushing his hair behind his ear.

“Don’t mention it,” Eliot replies.

And, just like that, the moment’s over. The guy that Eliot is pretty sure is Quentin is running out of the door again, waving at the blond woman one last time before he’s out of sight.

Eliot slips back into the booth.

“Wow. That was more intense than I thought it’d be,” David says. “That was definitely him, wasn’t it?”

His breathing is still coming out a bit rushed, but Eliot is working on getting it under control. He looks away, not wanting to face his brother’s heavy questioning gaze. He’d read way too much into whatever Eliot is sure is reflecting in his eyes right now.

As he does it, though, he sees something under the seat of the booth on the other side from his. He frowns and makes his way over to it, kneeling down and reaching for it blindly.

His chest tightens when his fingers close around the unmistakable shape of a book. He pulls it out and stares dumbly at it.

“Holy shit!” David whisper-yells from behind him. “Eliot…”

But Eliot can only shake his head as he continues to stare at the cover. He wipes off the dust it collected from under the seat.

David walks up behind him and clasps him on the shoulder. Eliot finally gets up and faces him. His brother is looking at him with a soft, encouraging expression.

“Come on, let’s take you home so you can tell your boy you have what he’s lost. I’ll pay this time. I suddenly find myself in a great mood.”

He smiles brightly at his younger brother and walks to the counter to pay for their meal.

\---

**18th July 2020**

_“Hey Q,_

_I have your book. I know you asked me to send it to you as soon as I had it with me, but I was hoping to hand it over to you sometime. Please don’t hold that against me._

_I may even read it (and I’m not really a book person) so we can discuss it later. I promise I’ll take good care of it, don’t worry. I know how much it means to you._

_I don’t know if you’ll remember this, but we’ve met. I mean, unless there was another brown haired, clumsy man in that diner who spilled half the contents of his bag all over the floor and happened to put it all back except for a copy of Orlando by Virginia Woolf, then I’m pretty sure that was you._

_I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, though. Let me know if I misinterpreted things. I have a terrible habit of doing that. I didn’t mean to get in the way of anything. ~~Not that there’s been a chance of that happening yet~~._

_Take care. I will look after your book. And your dog, too, as usual._

_-El”_

“Q! Please tell me you remember him!” Julia demands, taking the letter from him to read it again.

“Jules, you have to remember that he’s just lived it, but it’s been two years for me. I don’t really recall. Don’t you think I want to remember him? I just… don’t.”

His shoulders slump and he falls backward on the couch, hiding his face in his hands.

“You have to reply soon, though. The poor guy thinks you and Alice are still a thing.”

Quentin groans into his hands. “Oh god…”

Julia slaps the letter against his chest, making him exhale fast.

“Yeah. Remember that our goal is to keep this guy’s interest for his next two years.”

He sits back up and refolds the letter to put it next to all the others he’s saved back home. He gets up and locates his bag. He slips the letter inside it.

“Hey,” she starts, bringing his attention back to her. “He planted that tree because you told him you missed them. Now, he saved your favorite book for you. If you can get him to change the past for you, maybe you can finally ask him to try to contact you in the future.”

Quentin takes a deep breath. “Jules, he’ll have to wait two years for it to happen.”

“Yeah, so? Don’t do what you always do, Q. Don’t give up before you’ve given it an actual chance.”

Quentin frowns. “When did I–”

“You do know that the Alice thing–”

He points a finger at her and interrupts her. “You know very well why that didn’t really work out at the time.”

Julia licks her lips and looks away, letting him have this one.

“Ok. Whatever. Just give him your number. Ask him to call tomorrow around this time. You’ll be here already, right?”

“Yeah. I can drive past the lake house after work and then come here. We’ll have dinner and…” he trails off, not really wanting to verbalize it, in case he’s getting his hopes up and things don’t happen the way he wants them to.

“And he’ll call. And you’ll talk and set up a meeting, at last.” She seems to realize he’s still not quite sold on the idea. “Come on, Q. Someone has to take the first step. Unfortunately, it’ll have to be you this time, as you’re literally in the future compared to him.”

He scratches his head and sits back down on the couch. She reaches over to squeeze his knee.

“I know the whole thing sounds complicated and hopeless, but I like to think that there’s a reason you two crossed each other’s paths. Especially being in two different timelines here! You’re meant to meet, I can feel it in my bones. Let yourself be happy for once, Q, and go after what you want.”

Quentin nods. What she’s saying is something that resonates with him. He feels that way, for sure, but the fear that it’ll all go pear-shaped is gripping him in a vice.

“Ok,” he decides, impulsively.

“Yeah?” she asks, the excited tone easy to spot in her voice.

He nods again, more firmly this time.

“Yes. I’m doing this.”

Julia squeals and throws her arms around him. He can’t help but laugh as he curls his arms around her, too.

His heart is hammering a mile a second, but he’s also filled with joy.

Yeah, this is the right choice.

\---

**18th July 2018**

Eliot gets home and opens the mailbox. Aside from his actual bills, there’s a small note. He reaches into the mailbox, takes everything inside and closes it.

As he walks towards the front door, he immediately picks up the note. There’s a phone number at the top, followed by a short message.

_“Call me on July 19 th 2020 at 9:00 pm. I need to hear your voice. Find a way to make sure it happens. Mark it on your email calendar or set up a reminder on your phone. I don’t know, use one of those time capsule websites, but please call me.”_

It’s not signed this time, but Eliot knows it’s from Quentin.

His first reaction is to worry. Did something happen? It’s not like he can leave a message for Quentin in the mailbox when he’s not sure when he’ll be able to come back to the lake house and read it.

Instead, he shoves the note and letters under his arm, gets his keys to unlock the door and fumbles with his phone’s calendar app.

“This is insane. Creating something for two years from now. What if I lose my phone?”

Muntjac chooses that moment to jump him and he drops his phone on the floor. A shiver goes through him.

“This better not be some sort of message from the fucking universe. I want to meet him and I’ll do anything in my power to do so,” he declares assertively, almost daring it to ruin this for him.

He leans down to pick up his phone. It’s still working. Eliot doesn’t usually believe these things, but he can’t deny the slight shaky way the air leaves his lungs.

Muntjac approaches once more, licking at his face. He laughs and pets her enthusiastically.

He puts his bag and the letters down and searches for a piece of paper and a pen.

_“I don’t know when you’ll get this, but… did it work? Did we talk? Was it everything we’ve both dreamed of? Spoil me!”_

He walks up to the mailbox and slips it inside and, not giving himself time to overthink it, he closes it and the note disappears.

Now he waits.

\---

**19th July 2020**

“You’re going to drive me insane if you don’t stop wasting my rug away with all your pacing,” Julia points out in a bored tone from her spot on the couch.

Quentin doesn’t answer, choosing instead to keep walking back and forth, biting his nails and occasionally throwing a glance at the cellphone lying on the table.

Julia sighs and gets up, grabbing his arms and forcing him to stop.

“Hey. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

Now that he’s standing still, Quentin’s anxiety spikes as he thinks about this situation. He really put himself out there and Eliot came up short.

“Are you sure you told him the right time?” Julia asks softly.

Quentin nods. He stops biting on his fingernails and instead shoves his hands under his armpits.

“Yes,” he answers simply.

He reaches for his phone again and unlocks it. He stares at the time. 9:23 p.m.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna call.”

Julia remains quiet. She reaches out and rubs his shoulder comfortingly.

“Maybe something came up and he’ll call you later.”

Quentin shakes his head, a sad small laugh coming out of his mouth as he lets his phone drop on the couch.

“Yeah, or the easiest reason would be that he wasn’t really that interested.” He waves Julia off before continuing. “Hey, I get it. I totally understand. Two years is a long time to ask someone to wait to call you. And I have no idea – neither does he, I guess – what we even talked about during those two years, okay? The connection might have broken, I don’t know.”

He shrugs and gives her a trembling smile. Her expression turns soft and sad and Quentin has to turn away before he breaks.

Just as he’s about to leave his friend’s living room to get some time alone, his phone starts ringing.

Julia jumps back and they exchange hopeful looks before Quentin grabs it.

When he looks at his screen, his shoulders drop immediately and Julia frowns. He shakes his head at her and accepts the call.

“Hey, Alice,” he greets.

A few feet away, Julia drops onto the couch with a sigh.

_“Hey! Sorry to just call out of nowhere, but I was in Chicago for a meeting and I thought about calling you if we didn’t wrap it up too late.”_

“It’s okay,” he says, ignoring the way his poor heart feels all battered and bruised from all the highs and lows of this day.

_“I wanted to see if you were available to grab a drink and catch up.”_

Quentin looks at the clock on the wall and closes his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. I’m free. Where are you?”

Julia immediately gets up from the couch with raised eyebrows and starts trying to signal at him, but he turns his back on her.

_“Uh. I’m staying at this hotel… they have an open bar and they’ll serve you, if you bring your mask with you. I’ll give you the address and you’ll meet me there?”_

“That works. I’ll meet you there. See you in a few.”

_“See you soon, Quentin.”_

He hangs up and turns to face his best friend.

“Quentin, what are–”

He shakes his head and interrupts her, already walking towards the front door to pick up his jacket.

“Listen, he’s not calling me. I just know, okay? But even if he does, I’ll have my phone on me.”

She frowns at him. He gets a text from Alice with the address and immediately checks it on Google Maps to get directions.

“Even if he doesn’t, Q, don’t you think–”

“Julia,” he interrupts again, “don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

She eyes him with a careful expression.

“I just want you to be happy, Q, but this Alice thing again… I don’t know that you won’t just end up hurting yourself even more by trying to force it.”

He frowns and chuckles when it dawns on him what she’s implying.

“It’s just drinks, Jules. It’s not marriage.”

His best friend crosses her arms and looks down at her feet.

“Text me when you come back. Night or morning, it’s fine.”

“Jules,” he starts, but she has already turned her back on him and walked back into the living room.

This is not how he expected his night to go. Why is Julia assuming anything, anyway? He’s… angry isn’t the word. He’s disappointed. Hurt, even. But, like he said, there’s a 2 year gap where he doesn’t know how his relationship with Eliot evolves.

Maybe it doesn’t work out for them. That’s okay. It doesn’t mean he’s immediately going back to his ex-girlfriend simply because he’s feeling down.

He shakes his head of all of those thoughts. He could use the fresh air, anyway. He leaves and closes the door behind him.

\---

**20th July 2018**

Eliot is aware of how stupid it is to just sit at his desk, not doing anything, wondering if the future version of himself got super nervous about calling Quentin the day before. There’s a tiny flutter in his gut just thinking about it. He wishes he didn’t have to wait two years for it to happen.

He’d barely managed to drag himself to bed and fall asleep the night before. He couldn’t stop getting super excited about the whole thing, heart racing and limbs shaking with a nervous energy he couldn’t get rid of. Adding to that the jealous feeling that was getting the best of him, as Quentin knew way more than he did now.

Regardless, Eliot feels so giddy, so sure that they _talked_ and probably even set up a date to meet face to face sometime later that he’s been walking around with a silly smile on his face that’s making all the workers look at him with concern. They probably think he’s been day drinking.

“Mr. Waugh?”

He leaves his wonderland of thoughts to face the construction supervisor.

“Hey, Mark. Sorry, I got distracted. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The man smiles and shakes his head.

“Not really. I actually came here to give you some good news.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we finished another lot.”

Eliot grins at him and immediately gets up from his chair to follow the man outside, where the other workers seem to be waiting for him.

“I hear you guys have been doing some excellent work,” he says, addressing the workers who are standing in a semi-circle. “I told you guys that you could make it work. See? All you needed was some nice encouragement and to realize you’re all better workers than you give yourselves credit for.”

The men cheer and Mark pats him on the back.

“That’s true,” he agrees, “but we also only made it this far thanks to your suggestions.” The man pauses to look down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before. We’ve worked with young men such as yourself before and they always come in thinking they know better than all of us because they had better opportunities and got educated, but we’re not really dumb, you know? We also know what we’re doing.”

Eliot smiles sadly at him.

“I’m sorry you guys had bad experiences before. But I promise I’m not here to make you feel inferior, okay? I actually like to discuss the options with you. I know how it’s supposed to go in theory, and I’m very confident about that, but you guys are the ones who actually roll up your sleeves and get in there. You know better than I do how long it takes to do something and if it’s even a feasible thing. I’d be crazy not to hear from your side of things.”

Mark looks up at him with a proud glint in his eyes.

“You’re a good one, Mr. Waugh. We’re lucky to have you working with us.”

Eliot waves it off, but he feels his cheeks warm up in a pleased feeling of gratitude.

“Nah, you guys are good sports. I’m sure we’ll finish another lot soon enough. Wasn’t Diego’s team making progress in theirs as well?” he asks, diverting the attention back to the workers, pointing at the man in question, who nods in response. “Well, then what do you say we get back to work and finish this thing?”

The workers cheer once more and go back to their places.

“Like I said,” Mark says once they’ve all walked away. “You’re a good one.”

Eliot lets the praise he’s never gotten from his own father keep him in high spirits for the rest of the day.

\---

**19th July 2020**

“Hey,” comes Alice’s happy voice from Quentin’s left.

“Hey,” he replies.

“How are you doing?” she asks, and then seems to think it over. “I mean, I’m sure work has been crazy for you. I hope you’re getting enough rest.”

She leans closer and touches his arm.

“Yeah. It’s definitely been a bit crazier than usual, but we have a good team and we’re doing the best that we can. People have been really supportive, too. Even if some of them make our work even harder by not taking the necessary precautions,” he adds, pointing at his mask.

He can tell from the crinkles in her eyes that she’s smiling. She squeezes his arm before letting go and pointing at a table in the corner.

“Wanna sit down and talk a little over a drink? I’ll buy.”

“Sure,” he replies.

She turns around and makes her way towards the table. He follows her, sitting opposite her and placing his cellphone on the table, next to his arm. He presses a button to light up the screen, but there are no notifications or missed calls or any texts. He presses it again to lock the screen and watches it fade to black.

They order their drinks and make small talk for a while. When Quentin is halfway done with his and has checked his phone twice more, Alice reaches over and touches his hand. He does his best not to flinch away from it and she doesn’t seem to take notice.

“Hey, everything okay? You keep checking your phone.”

Quentin lifts his shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “Just waiting on a call, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen today. It’s okay. Nothing important.”

Before he can lose his mind, he picks up his phone and slips it in his pocket.

“You know, I’m really glad you agreed to meet me here. I really missed you,” she admits, her hand sliding down his forearm to try and reach his fingers.

Realizing what she’s about to do, he pulls his hand away and curls his hair behind his ear.

“Alice…”

She places her hands on her lap, and even though Quentin can’t see them, he’s sure she’s wringing her fingers together in a nervous gesture.

“I was hoping that we’d start with drinks, reconnect, and then get back to…”

“Back to what, Alice?”

She sighs and reaches for her drink to give her an extra boost.

“I know that I have a tendency to make things move a bit faster than most people are comfortable with.”

Quentin can’t stop the small huff of laughter that leaves his lips.

“Alice, you never seem to be in the present, your mind is always in the future. We’d been seeing each other for a few weeks and you were already talking about how great it would be when we had our own house and created a life together.”

She seems to shrink into herself, feeling chastised.

“No, no.” Quentin is the one to reach out and grab her wrist. “That’s not a bad thing, Alice. I’m sure there are more people out there who feel the same way, who are always five steps ahead. It’s just… that’s not me, Alice. I don’t usually meet people and immediately become best friends with them.”

Suddenly, she throws him a nasty look.

“Well, that’s not always true, is it, Quentin?”

He frowns at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That guy at the surprise birthday party I threw for you? You didn’t even know him, but you were all cozy after a five-minute conversation with him.”

He frowns harder, barely remembering the person he had talked to on that day.

The thing about parties is that they usually involve way too many people. Way more than Quentin can handle. So he finds comfort in drinking, which leads to him not quite remembering everything that goes down during these events.

He remembers there being a guy he talked to, but the details are more than just a little hazy.

“He was just a guy, Alice. Nothing happened. We’ve been through this.”

She snorts.

“Yeah, nothing happened because I was looking for you and happened to find you before something did.”

He doesn’t tell her that one of the few things he remembers is that he had wanted to kiss the other man. He made him feel seen, somehow. But now that he thinks about it, he’s almost certain he even tried to kiss him, but the man pulled back seconds before Alice showed up.

Quentin shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

“Ok, this is not going as either of us expected, I’m sure.”

The anger in her seems to have dissipated, replaced by a crestfallen expression.

“Hey, it’s okay, Alice. Don’t worry. We can meet up again some other time. I think we just need some space for now. You’re a good person and I’d love to still have you in my life, okay?”

“So it’s not me, it’s you?” she jokes, but something in her tone comes off sour.

“It’s for the best for now. Let me know when you’re in town again and we’ll give it another chance. Take care, Alice.”

He gets up and leaves before she can try to stop him.

\---

**20th July 2018**

There’s another knock on Eliot’s office door. He frowns but gets up to open it. It’s one of the workers.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Waugh, but I think your dog is running away,” he informs him.

Eliot looks past him to see Muntjac running out of the gates.

“Jac!” he yells and runs after her.

She seems to be on some kind of mission, but he’s not giving up on her. If this is how he loses her, he’s definitely not letting her escape.

He runs faster to try and shorten the distance between them.

“Jac! Come back!” he yells again, but she only barks in response and keeps going, destination unknown.

He continues to follow her and tries to get her to stop.

Then she turns a corner and Eliot loses sight of her. His stomach drops.

“Jac! Where did you go? Jac!” he calls again, a more desperate tone making his voice break.

He looks around, but doesn’t see her anywhere. This can’t be it, can it? He was having such a great day and suddenly…

“Hey!” a voice calls out from farther down the street.

He turns and sees a blond woman waving at him with a friendly smile. She seems familiar, somehow.

“Is this your dog?” she asks, pointing at the ground. Eliot looks down and there she is.

He lets out a deep relieved breath and lets his body curl forward, hands trembling on his knees as he gets his breathing under control.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he says when he approaches her. He sees she was in the middle of moving boxes and bags with drinks and snacks from the trunk of a car and into the house they’re standing in front of.

“Need some help with that?” he asks, eyeing everything behind her.

She looks over her shoulder and laughs.

“I swear that’s not all for me, so don’t judge, please.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“No judging, I promise. I’m Eliot,” he introduces himself, extending a hand for her to take.

“I’m Alice,” she replies, grabbing his hand and giving it a quick but firm shake. “I may just take you up on your offer.”

“Glad to help,” he tells her sincerely.

“This is for a surprise party I’m throwing for my boyfriend. He’s at work right now, but he’ll be here later in the evening,” she explains as she hands him a box and goes back to get another herself.

“Ah, I’m sure he’ll love it, then.”

She beams at him. “Yeah. His work keeps him busy, so I figured this would be the best time to get our friends together and for him to relax a bit, too.”

Eliot nods and motions for her to go first and show him the way.

She leads him past the entrance hall and the living room and to the kitchen, where there are a few bags already sitting on the counter. Eliot raises an eyebrow, doing some quick math of just how many people will fit in this house and how they’ll manage to hide themselves to surprise the poor guy.

“Quentin’s a doctor, you know? He’s finishing his residency in Madison,” she adds when they’re making their way down the front stairs and back to the car to gather more things.

So many bells ring at what she’s just told him that Eliot freezes on the last step.

“Wait. His name is Quentin?”

Could it be him? He’s a doctor, too. And he did mention a residency in Madison. What are the odds?

“Yeah,” she replies easily in an amused tone. “Not that common a name, right?” Then she pauses and frowns at him. “Why, do you know him?”

Eliot shakes his head immediately.

“No, no. Like you said, just an uncommon name.”

That answer seems to satisfy Alice, who picks up another box to hand to him.

“So you live nearby?”

“Sort of,” he replies, making his way inside. “I have a place by the lake.”

“Oh, really?”

Eliot didn’t expect that to be what piqued her interest, but she definitely paused after putting the bags down by the kitchen counter.

“You know, I think that would be the perfect place for me and Quentin to check out once he’s done with his residency.”

Eliot’s insides twist, but he makes the effort to smile down at her. He knows that Quentin will end up living at the lake house sometime in the next year or so, but he hadn’t mentioned ever living there with someone else.

“There are a couple houses down there that are up for rent, if you want to check them out later.”

She pulls her beautiful blond hair behind her ear and smiles up at him.

“You know what? Why don’t you come by the house later? I’ll introduce you to Quentin and maybe we can set something up?”

There’s a thrilling feeling blooming inside him, but also a small sliver of anxiousness.

“Are you sure? Isn’t this a birthday party? He might not like that you invited someone he doesn’t know.”

She waves him off with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’m sure he won’t mind once the house is filled with family and friends.”

Eliot smiles benignly.

“Okay. Then I’ll stop by. What time should I be here?”

She picks up the last bag and Eliot stands on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets.

“He’s gonna be home at around half past eight, so that’s when we’ll be surprising him. You can come by later, if you still feel kind of awkward for intruding on the actual surprise.”

Eliot looks down and nods.

“Okay. I’ll show up at around 9, then.”

Alice smiles.

“See you later, then!”

Muntjac barks once Alice has gone back inside. Eliot sighs and pets her, before turning around and walking back to the construction site.

“I know, girl. I’m way over my head.”

\---

**20th July 2020**

It’s already past midnight when Quentin returns to Julia’s place.

He texted her before he got there, just like she’d asked. By the time he makes it to her door, it’s already open and she’s leaning against the doorframe.

He buries his hands in his pockets and looks at her for a second. There’s a mix of worry and a hint of “I told you so” on her face. He looks away and shuffles closer to her.

“It’s officially my birthday now, so you can’t get mad at me. Give me at least 24 hours.”

She shakes her head when he approaches, but reaches forward to pull him into her arms and into a crushing hug.

“Happy birthday, Q. You know I love you, right?”

He nods into her embrace, arms curling tighter around her before he pulls back.

“I know. Which means you worry and only tell me these things because you think it’s what’s best for me. I know that, even though it sometimes seems like I don’t.”

He pushes his hair behind his ears and lets himself into the apartment, removing his mask and placing it on the table by the door. He hears his best friend lock the door behind him.

“Do you want to talk?”

He moves towards the couch and lets himself faceplant there. It takes about five seconds before he feels Julia’s fingers carding through his hair.

“Did you guys argue again?”

He turns his head to the side so he can see her. She’s sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch, fingers still moving through his hair.

“I wouldn’t call it that. Just old stuff being brought up again. She told me she wanted to catch up, and for the most part that’s what we did. But then she started saying she missed me and that she was hoping that we’d have drinks now and then move to dinner and…”

Julia closes her eyes and nods.

“She was doing it again. Planning for things way ahead and assuming you’d just roll with it.”

Quentin exhales in response.

“So what did you tell her?”

“The truth,” he admits, reaching for one of the cushions and slipping it under his head. “I told her that she moves way too fast for me.”

Julia shrugs.

“Like you said, it’s the truth. Sometimes people move at different paces.”

Quentin snorts humorlessly.

“Yeah, except she thinks I do move fast, just not with her.”

“Oh?”

“She brought up the disaster that was that surprise birthday party two years ago.”

Quentin watches as the epiphany comes. Julia leans back on her hands.

“The guy from the party.”

He nods. “The guy from the party.”

“But you never saw him again, did you? Why is this still an issue?”

“I don’t know. I was way drunk by that point. I guess she was mad that that was the night that made me realize that things weren’t working out for me anymore. It put a wrench in her plans and she used that as an excuse.”

Julia whistles.

“She’s never gonna let you live that down.”

He sits up, frustrated.

“Jules, that’s the thing, though. _Nothing_ happened. It was just a random architect or something. Except he lived in this place by the lake and Alice wanted us to go look at houses together.”

Julia’s loud intake of breath isn’t enough to hit the brakes on his rant.

“We were so not at that stage of the relationship yet. Especially if she thought that my favorite thing to do when coming back home after a long day at work, and on my birthday nonetheless, was to fill the house with strangers and–”

Julia’s hand slapping his arm does the trick, though. She’s looking at him with wide eyes.

“Ow! What was that for?” he asks, frowning at her reaction.

“Run that by me once again.”

“What, that I don’t like surprise parties?” he continues, even more confused.

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head at him. “The guy. What do you know about this guy?”

“I don’t remember much, Jules…”

“Try. Everything. Say it out loud again and it’ll click for you, I promise.”

He tilts his head at her, but complies with a deep exhale.

“Okay. I think Alice introduced us earlier that night, but I wasn’t in my best mood and kinda blacked all of that out in my mind. I needed to get some air after smiling at the dozens of people in the house and forcing small talk with them. He came up to me after I’d had a few drinks already…”

\---

**20th July 2018**

It’s almost 9:30 when Eliot finally makes it to the house. He still isn’t sure that this is his best idea ever, but he’s too weak to resist at this point.

He can hear the soft music coming from inside the house. The lights are on and he can hear people talk and laugh.

He knocks on the door and is greeted by Alice a few moments later.

“Oh, Eliot! You’re here! Come, I’ll introduce you to Quentin.”

She grabs him by the wrist and pulls him past a bunch of faces he’s sure he’ll never see again.

Eventually, they reach the other side of the house and Eliot sees him. It’s only been a few days since the diner, but it suddenly feels like it’s been years.

He breathes in and lets himself be overwhelmed with the feeling while Alice pokes Quentin in the arm and brings him closer to Eliot.

“This is Eliot. Eliot, this is the birthday boy.”

He tries not to be disappointed when there seems to be no hint of recollection on Quentin’s face upon seeing him. He clears his throat and thrusts out a hand at Quentin.

“Happy birthday, Quentin. It’s nice to meet you.”

The other man takes his hand, but shakes it halfheartedly.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a swig from his cup.

“He lives by the lake and he said there are a couple houses for rent there. We could go check them out when you’re off work,” Alice explains her plan to her boyfriend, the excitement getting the best of her.

Eliot, however, can only focus on how disconnected Quentin looks, even when he gives her a quick smile and drops a kiss to her cheek.

“Sure. We can talk about that later.” He then turns to Eliot. “Have a nice time,” he says, lifting his plastic cup before tipping it towards his mouth and finishing his drink.

“Is he… okay?” he asks Alice in a tentative tone, watching Quentin bump into someone and laughing through an apology as he moves towards the back door.

Alice nods and throws him a smile, but Eliot sees how her gaze turns to the door Quentin has just exited from and frowns.

“He’s just letting loose. It’s fine.” Her tone offers reassurance, but Eliot doesn’t know if it’s meant for him or herself.

He doesn’t bring it up again, choosing to mingle for a bit before that intense feeling inside brings him to the backdoor, his desire to check on Quentin getting the best of him.

Eliot pushes the door open and immediately spots Quentin sitting on the grass outside, leaning on his elbows and looking up at the night sky. Beside him sits a half-empty bottle of what Eliot is sure isn’t water.

He approaches cautiously, but making enough noise not to take Quentin by surprise.

When he’s close enough, Quentin's head tilts to the side to watch him. His eyes crinkle when he seems to make out who he is looking at.

“Hey, lake guy, right?” he slurs a little, but he smiles and Eliot is too weak.

“Birthday guy, right?” he jokes back.

Quentin snorts and goes back to watching the stars.

“I never really wanted this, you know?”

Eliot adjusts the legs of his pants so he can sit down beside Quentin, pulling his knees up and throwing his arms around them.

“What, to ruin your clothes in this grass?”

Quentin leans farther back until he’s lying fully on the grass, as if purposefully contradicting Eliot, and lets his arms fall loosely by his torso.

“Surprise parties. I hate those,” he confesses.

Eliot frowns down at him.

“Didn’t your girlfriend get the memo, then?”

“Alice does what Alice wants.”

“Sounds nice,” he replies, trying not to let the slight bitter and jealous feeling get the best of him, but unsure of how else one could possibly describe his sarcastic tone.

The other man shrugs.

“She means well. I’m just not really a party person.”

“Which explains why you’re outside, all by your lone self at a party to celebrate you.”

“Yup,” he replies, ending with a popping sound.

They remain quiet for a while longer, with Eliot watching Quentin and Quentin watching the stars.

Eliot could stay here forever, watching this man who entered his life so randomly and managed to unlock the way to his long lost heart. It skips a beat when Quentin’s eyes move from the stars above to find Eliot’s eyes instead.

He pushes himself back up and leans on his left hand, coming much closer to Eliot.

Way too close for Eliot to be able to pull away from the other man’s spell. Without even thinking about it, Eliot’s eyes move from Quentin’s eyes down to his lips.

Quentin knows exactly what he’s doing when he licks his lips and seems to sway closer.

“So you’re the guy who’s gonna find us a house by the lake?”

That is just the thing that breaks Eliot’s little bubble. He clears his throat and tears his gaze away from those lips to look down at his knees instead.

“I hope so.”

Quentin pulls back a little and gives Eliot the breathing space he needs.

“So you’re a real estate agent?”

Eliot laughs quietly, letting go of his knees and extending his long legs in front of him. He leans back on his elbows and tries to find the constellations that caught Quentin’s attention before.

“Not at all. I’m an architect. I just happen to have a house there.”

Quentin hums to his side.

“Is it nice?”

Eliot smiles, thinking of all the adjustments he still wants to make to the house.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’d love it. It’s spacious and there’s a lot of light coming in. It has a great view of the lake and it’s surrounded by trees.”

He looks to the side to see that Quentin has closed his eyes and has a dreamy smile on his face.

“Hmm. I do like the idea of being closer to nature.” His eyes open and his smile dims. “I can’t wait to leave this house behind,” he admits, eyes finding Eliot’s again.

He really needs to control himself and keep them both from making any mistakes. Quentin is drunk and Eliot recognizes the loose cannon that he is. He knows better than to go and change the past now.

“Hey,” Eliot starts suddenly. “Random topic change, but have you read _Orlando_?”

He watches Quentin’s face go through a complicated set of motions before his expression seems to settle on a frown.

“What?” he mumbles.

“ _Orlando_ by Virginia Woolf.”

Quentin sits up and turns towards Eliot, looking down on him.

“No, I know that. I’m just confused as to why you brought this up.”

Eliot shrugs nonchalantly. Or tries to.

“I have recently read – or, well, _skimmed_ – a friend’s copy, but I’m not sure I understood what it was about. I was hoping you had any idea.”

Quentin frowns down at him before poking him in the chest and letting his finger linger. If he notices the way Eliot’s heartbeat picks up, he makes no mention of it.

“Tell me what you got out of it.”

“I’m not entirely sure I got anything of any value,” he admits sheepishly. “It was dense and a bit confusing for me, but then again reading is not my favorite thing to do in my free time, so it might be just that.”

Quentin waits him out, fingers playing with the buttons on Eliot’s shirt. His breathing stutters before it calms under the storm that is Quentin Coldwater.

“Okay, so it’s about this young man who apparently lives for over 300 years and somewhere along the way changes from man to woman. I also get that there’s this whole thing about the differences between men and women. Not only in terms of rights but also society’s rules and customs,” he summarizes. “I also got a bit of a gay vibe from it.”

He stops, not sure where else to go with it. He wasn’t lying when he said that a huge part of it flew right past him as he tried to focus on what he was reading.

“That’s it?” Quentin asks him, a disappointed turn in his tone.

When Eliot nods, Quentin rolls his eyes and pushes him down until Eliot is lying down on the grass and absolutely ruining his clothes. But, hey, he gets to have Quentin looking at him like he’s a subject of study and he’s weirdly okay with that.

“I asked you to explain it to me. It was no news to you that I didn’t grasp most of its main ideas. So, are you just going to mock me or will you educate me on it?” he teases, sure that Quentin will bite.

He looks up and sniffs, but sighs and comes back down to lean on his left elbow, looking down at Eliot once again.

“Okay. I will do the right thing and educate you on my favorite book.”

Eliot’s eyebrows rise at that statement.

“Oh, a favorite? Won’t you give me a biased opinion, though?”

Quentin places his fingers on Eliot’s mouth and shushes him. Eliot tries not to laugh at how silly a drunk Quentin looks while doing it.

“You actually did get some of the points in there, so I’ll give you that. You got the part of society's different views of men and women. Virginia Woolf shows us that this thing about gender roles is not something biological, but instead something that society enforces upon us. And-and if you forget the clothes, underneath it all, we're very similar, regardless of gender itself. Why should there be things that are automatically associated with men and others with women. What happens to those who fall away from those very rigid categories?”

For a moment there, watching Quentin gesticulate wildly, some of the words in between sentences running together, Eliot wonders if he’s unleashed a monster.

“She's basically saying that if we don't tell men and women how they should act and allow them to express themselves freely, they'll finally get to be who they are down to their very nature, regardless of what society says they should act, dress or talk like,” Quentin continues in his drunken ramble.

Eliot bites his lip to keep his mouth from breaking into a silly amused grin. The affection he feels for this human being, though, that one is blooming inside him and he can’t do anything to put a stop to it.

“As for the 'gay vibe' as you called it, Woolf did write this with her lover, Vita Sackville-West, in mind. It's often referred to as _‘the longest and most charming love letter in literature’_.”

As he finishes saying this, Quentin looks back down at Eliot, his hand falling from another great loop in the air between them, resting on Eliot’s chest instead.

“What?” Quentin asks softly, breaking himself from his long-winded thoughts and opinions on the book Eliot still has in his possession, to hopefully hand back to its owner in the future.

“Nothing. It’s amazing how you barely breathe when you start talking about your _favorite book_ ,” Eliot whispers, thoroughly amused by the whole thing.

Quentin rolls his eyes and lies down next to him, turning on his side to face Eliot. His hand is still resting against Eliot’s chest, rising and falling with each breath he takes.

“It’s more than just my favorite book, you know?” Quentin confesses, looking down at his fingers playing with Eliot’s shirt once again.

“Yeah?”

“My father gave it to me before he died.”

Eliot gulps and refrains from commenting. He lifts his left hand to find Quentin’s on his chest, trying to offer him some comfort. The fidgety fingers move onto Eliot’s hand instead, drawing all sorts of patterns on his warm skin.

“When I told him I wanted to be a doctor, he told me it was important for me to see people for who they were, instead of judging them by their exterior. He had a thing for the classics, you know? So he handed me this one, hoping it would help with that. Did you know that, to this day, there are still some doctors who struggle with diagnosis because of their preconceived ideas of how men and women work differently? Especially if that person underwent a sex change.”

Eliot nods, but Quentin still isn’t looking up from their fingers.

“He knew it’d be difficult, but he always supported me in my dream to become a doctor. He told me he had no doubt that I’d do my very best to help others.” His fingers pause suddenly and Eliot senses a change in tone coming up.

“Then he got sick and I couldn’t save him.”

When he starts to tear up, Quentin untangles their fingers, but Eliot is faster. His fingers touch Quentin’s face and wipe away the tears that have started to fall.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and tries to hide his crying face.

Eliot sits back up and pulls him closer. Quentin folds immediately, letting his face fall on Eliot’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I brought the book up.”

Quentin shakes his head and pulls away, wiping at his eyes. Eliot’s hand runs up and down his arm.

“No, you didn’t know.”

Once again, Eliot doesn’t say anything, but he can’t help but look away.

“You know, for a stranger, you’re a good support system,” Quentin whispers.

Eliot’s eyes meet his and he realizes they’re sitting close again. Too close.

Quentin’s hand finds the side of Eliot’s neck, thumb running up and down his jaw. Eliot’s eyes flutter close, but he pulls back delicately when he feels Quentin’s nose rub against his.

“Hey, let’s… maybe not, ok?”

Quentin’s hand falls to the grass between them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t,” he starts, pulling away from the sting of rejection.

He doesn’t want Quentin to feel unwanted, though, and certainly doesn’t feel like hiding his affection and attraction at this point, so his hand finds Quentin’s again.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I… There’s something here and I’d love to explore it, but,” Eliot’s other hand touches Quentin’s chin, making him look up at Eliot. “You’re drunk, Quentin. Not only that, but you’ve unloaded a whole lot of emotions just now. I don’t want this to happen when you’re so vulnerable that it would feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Quentin frowns and shakes his head quickly.

“You’re not. I want this,” he insists, grabbing Eliot’s shirt to pull him closer again.

He can’t break, however, so he lets go of Quentin’s chin and splays his hand on his chest, keeping the distance between them.

“There’s also the fact that there’s a party going on inside that house.” He points behind them. “For you, thrown by your girlfriend, Quentin. This isn’t right and you know it. You’d hate yourself if you did this to her.”

That seems to work on him. Eliot watches as Quentin hangs his head and lets out a pitiful whine.

“Wrong place, wrong time?” he mumbles, hands releasing their grip on Eliot’s shirt.

He almost laughs at Quentin’s choice of words.

“Something like that, yeah.”

They hear the sound of the back door opening and Eliot immediately gets to his feet to try and put as much distance as he can between them. His back chills for a second when he sees who’s there, looking down at them.

“Quentin?” Alice asks, confused and hurt.

“I should go,” Eliot declares and he feels bad for leaving Quentin to deal with it, but he knows he’ll only make things worse if he tries to make sense of this to Alice.

“It was nice to meet you, Quentin. I do hope you get to move to the lake house soon. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

He nods at Alice when he walks past her, but he refuses to look back at Quentin. He’s done enough damage as it is.

“Nothing happened,” Quentin mumbles once Eliot is nowhere to be seen and Alice has made her way towards him.

“That’s what everyone always says.”

Quentin shakes his head.

“He was just lending me an ear and a shoulder to cry on. As you can probably tell,” he explains, pointing at his wet eyes.

“What happened?”

“We were just talking about my father,” he replies, not really wanting to go into more details than that.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her tone changing from accusatory to worried.

Quentin shrugs and pushes his hair back. He rolls his shoulders to get them to relax from their tense form.

“Do you want to go back inside? We can get your mind away from all of that.”

He shakes his head again and tries to get up on wobbly legs. Alice reaches out to help him stand.

“I really just… I want to rest a bit. Can you tell everyone that the party is over? I don’t really feel like going back to all of those people and have to explain why my face looks like a mess right now.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything, assessing him instead. He’s not sure if she finds what she was looking for, but in the end she helps him back to the door and lets him wait outside while she politely asks everyone to leave.

He leans against the outside wall and closes his eyes, hoping to find the nice stranger again someday.

\---

**20th July 2020**

“We talked about…”

He trails off, connecting the fuzzy dots in his mind. He doesn’t recall every single thing that happened, but he remembers talking about…

“ _Orlando_ ,” Julia finishes the sentence for him. “I remember dragging your drunk ass back to bed and you telling me about this handsome stranger who wanted to be educated on it.”

He nods at her.

“Right. Alice left and you were the one left behind.”

Julia shrugs.

“When she said you’d mentioned your father, I thought it’d be better if it was me helping you out, so I suggested she leave and let you sleep it off. I think she was a bit hurt by that,” she fills in the blank for him. “But the stranger,” she insists, tapping his knee.

“Right. An architect living in a house by the lake, who happened to have recently gotten his hands on a copy of _Orlando_.” He hides his face in his hands again. “It was him,” he mumbles against his fingers. “Fucking hell, I’ve met him and I don’t even remember him.”

“ _Twice_ now,” Julia adds with an amused chuckle.

Quentin picks up the cushion and throws it at her.

“Not helping!” he squeaks.

She laughs at his misfortune, which doesn’t seem to be the right thing for a best friend to do, but Quentin will let it slide.

“You,” she accuses, poking his knee, “wanted to kiss this guy.”

“Jules, I don’t even remember what he looked like or what was said, apart from the _Orlando_ thing.”

“Yeah, but if the party happened today, you totally would have smooched him.”

“Smooch? How old are we?”

She shakes her finger at him and he pushes it away from his face, curling his hair behind his ear.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’, though,” she teases.

He falls back on the couch, hiding his face beneath his arms.

“I can barely get the guy to call me. What makes you think a kiss is even on the table?”

Julia pushes his arms away from his face so she can look down at him.

“Write to him. Tell him something went wrong. Tell him about the party and see what he tells you. Maybe he can even fill in some more blanks for you.”

“What if he–”

She grabs his wrists and gives him a shake.

“Quentin, you have to. You’re not gonna give up now that you’ve both confessed that you’re super into one another and the only thing keeping you from riding off into the sunset is this messed up time thing.”

Quentin throws her a look. As if the _“time thing”_ is a simple issue they can easily get rid of.

“So he didn’t call,” she argues instead, “We don’t know what happened on his end and you refuse to look him up–”

“I told you why,” he interrupts.

“I know, I know. But if that’s what we’re doing, then you have to be prepared not to fold the first time things don’t seem to go your way. Either you stalk him online so we’ll find this guy, wherever the hell he may be, or you’ll put some more faith in the universe to make it right for you. You can’t have both.”

He lies in silence for a while. Julia doesn’t say anything else, feeling like she’s made her point across.

Then he takes a deep breath and exhales.

“Ok, I’ll write to him.”

Julia beams at him. He rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch with a yawn.

“But first, we’ll sleep.”

\---

**20th July 2018**

It’s almost 11 pm when Eliot arrives at the lake house. He’s still high on being around Quentin.

He exits the car and locks it up before walking towards the mailbox to slip a small note inside it.

Muntjac is already by the front door when Eliot takes out his keys. Her tail moves almost surreptitiously, but Eliot knows her very well by now. The second the door opens, she attacks him with kindness and he melts, like it always happens when he gets home.

He pets her lovingly, letting himself pour all of that tenderness he didn’t get to give to Quentin on their dog.

_Their_ dog. Not even in a conventional way, but it does something to Eliot just thinking about it like that.

“I saw him, Jac. We talked and bonded and it was so good,” he voices his looping thoughts. “He didn’t know me yet, and still we connected in such a way that I truly believe we can make this work.”

He gets up and removes his jacket, then locks up and makes his way towards the bathroom.

He takes a nice long shower as he thinks of all the details of Quentin’s face and expressions that he remembers, not wanting them to fade. He thinks of his voice and how it slurred slightly because of the alcohol, but still picked up speed when he got excited about the topic of conversation.

As his hand slides against his chest, he remembers Quentin’s own hand casually finding home there and pushing him down on the grass.

Before he gets too worked up, he rinses and grabs a towel to dry himself.

Putting on his pajamas, Eliot decides to call it a night for now, maybe even meet Quentin again in his dreams.

When his head hits his pillow and he hears Muntjac lie down on the ground beside him, he lets out a long breath.

“I wonder how the phone call went,” he murmurs with a silly smile and promptly falls asleep.

\---

**21st July 2020**

Quentin decided to drive to the lake house after a long shift at work. He was going to drop by yesterday, but he had to go to the hospital, and then he went back to Julia’s for dinner.

So, today, here he is, letter in hand, approaching the mailbox. The raised flag tells him there’s already something in there for him.

He falters and slips his in his pocket for now and grabs his mail.

The first one is a short one, simply saying _“Happy birthday. I hope you had a good one!”_

The second one asks him about the phone call.

Quentin’s emotions react in different ways to both.

In the end, he ignores the call one for now, grabbing the letter he came here to drop in the mailbox. He slips it inside, closes it and walks down to the house.

He circles it and leans against the barrister on the back side of it, watching the sunset over the lake and feeling the breeze on his face. He closes his eyes and feels at peace.

\---

**21st July 2018**

Eliot’s car pulls up at the lake house when the sun has already gone down. It’s late, but only because he spent the day hanging out with Margo and she convinced him to go get some drinks before he came back home. He kind of needed it too, anyway. His nerves have been getting the best of him. Work is a good enough distraction, but once that’s done and over with and he finds himself back home for the weekend, he’s left with his whirlwind of anxious thoughts.

He looks at the mailbox and sees he’s finally got mail. He walks up to it and picks it up.

_“You were there. I don’t remember what you look like, exactly. I just remember your expressive eyes and how easy it was to get lost in them._

_And you asked me about the book! That’s so unfair! You already knew how special it was to me.”_

It doesn’t say anything else. He puts down his satchel and pulls out some paper and a pen.

\---

**21st July 2020**

Quentin is leaning back against the barrister, enjoying the light breeze, looking out at the trees near where he parked his car, not really looking at anything in particular. He’s lost in that white noise of his thoughtless mind when he sees the flag go up.

He straightens up immediately and runs towards it. If Eliot is home right now, maybe they can chat a bit in “real time”.

_“Hey, Q_

_I should feel somewhat offended that you remember our talk about your book but not me. Then again, like you said, I already know it’s your favorite, and I know how you nerds are with your favorite literature, so I won’t be mad. This time._

_Also, you can’t really blame me, can you? A fine looking gentleman like you, I was willing to use every single thing to my advantage to get you to notice me._

_Damn, that makes me sound like a teenager with a crush. I swear I’ve crossed the 30 mark already._

_It was nice seeing you and talking to you. I couldn’t help myself from getting close. Please don’t be mad._

_Seeing as you don’t seem to remember much, rest assured that I didn’t spoil anything regarding your future or our letters. Past you has no idea.”_

Quentin reads it through and bites his lip. Eliot says all the right things, and the little Quentin remembers of his birthday two years ago, he knows he felt comfortable in his presence.

Despite all that, Quentin can’t also separate that from the most recent knowledge that he didn’t get a call from him a couple of days ago.

He knows that the Eliot he’s currently talking to isn’t the same Eliot who let him down two years later, but it puts a damper on Quentin’s excitement. Is it worth investing any more emotion into this relationship when it apparently doesn’t work out how they want it to?

Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and decides to give this Eliot a chance, for now. He picks up his pen and paper again and writes down a reply.

\---

**21st July 2018**

Eliot is rummaging through his fridge when Muntjac barks and runs outside. Sensing a pattern, Eliot looks up at the mailbox. Quentin is still at the lake house, then.

He closes the fridge, grabbing his notebook and pen on his way out to meet his dog at the mailbox.

When he reaches it, he opens the lid and retrieves the paper inside.

_“Am I supposed to overlook the fact that you admitted to having a teenage crush on me? Or, wait, forgive me, an adult crush._

_You know, I’m not sure what to do about all of those mixed signals. My friend Julia – she was there after you left and dragged me to bed to sleep my drunkenness off – told me that I kept saying that I tried to kiss you and you rejected me. So, what is it, big guy?”_

The message piques his interest and he can help but to smirk.

_“I’m gonna stick around for a little while, if you have time to exchange some more letters.”_

He can’t help the nervous little feeling rushing down his body. He’d stay up all night, if that’s what Quentin wanted.

Eliot sits down in front of the mailbox and starts writing his response.

\---

**21st July 2020**

Quentin is way past ignoring the thrill he gets every time the little flag goes up. He’s resigned himself to sitting around and “talking” to Eliot for longer today. They’re alone and his emotions are all over the place. He can’t be blamed for wanting to reach out to the one thing that always seems to brighten up his days.

He picks up Eliot’s note to read it.

_"I was interested, if that's what you're asking. I told you so. You probably don't remember that part, as you seem so determined to hold on so badly to the rejection part of it._

_But I'm a big fan of enthusiastic consent, Q. The enthusiasm was there, alright, but you were drunk, my friend. I was not going to be taking advantage of that._

_Besides, when your father was brought up into the conversation... I didn't want our first kiss to happen when you were so distraught._

_I'm sorry I even brought the book up and made you feel so sad about it._

_Are you okay, though? Now, I mean. You're hanging out at the lake house this late and it worries me. Is Julia with you?"_

If his heart stutters a little at getting yet more confirmation that Eliot is definitely into him, then he can’t really be blamed, can he?

The last part of the note makes him bite the end of his pen. That way lies true danger and a complicated mess of thoughts.

With a deep sigh, he decides to reply to the first part and then let the rest of it flow naturally.

\---

**21st July 2018**

Eliot is petting Muntjac when the flag goes up suddenly, startling them both.

He gets up from his seated position in front of the mailbox and moves to get Quentin’s message.

_"Yeah, I understand why you pulled away. I was really drunk. Parties aren't really my favorite environment, you know? Too many people, too much going on. My head just gets lost in all of it._

_You don't have to apologize for getting me to talk about my dad. I think it was good for me. I may not remember everything we talked about, but I remember feeling lighter after that night._

_I just wish you had stayed a bit longer so I could hold onto that feeling. I know that you left once Alice came outside and... You left some sort of void there._

_You know, I haven't really given it much thought, but now that I know it was you, I'm doing my best to try to remember as much as I can from that night. I may not have held onto any mental images (still don't know what you look like, sadly), but the emotions I felt that night left a mark.”_

His thumbs follow Quentin’s script, as if he could offer any sort of comfort by touching the words he poured out into this paper.

He wishes his own relationship with his father wasn’t as complicated as it is, but he knows a thing or two about losing someone you cared about. There’s an empty space in his heart with his mother’s shape and no matter how much Eliot tries to ignore it, sometimes it still gets the best of him.

He clutches at his own chest, trying to keep it together.

Memories of his lost mother usually end with even more resentment towards his father. It’s irrational, he knows. She had a disease that, despite any love her husband and children could give, would never let her live on.

So he looks up, bottles up his feelings once more and continues reading Quentin’s letter.

_“To answer your last question, I don't know. I have no idea what I'm feeling, Eliot. It's a chaotic mess of jumbled emotions. I was hoping that coming here would help. I didn’t even know if you’d check the mailbox at this time._

_I’m here alone, though. Julia knows I came to drop off a letter, but she doesn’t know I’ve… lingered."_

Eliot frowns at that and the concern intensifies. He doesn’t want to be the asshole who makes it all about him, but could it have something to do with his call? Has he fucked up already?

He doesn’t know how to ask about it, though. The truth remains that he doesn’t like Quentin being alone there, at an empty house by the lake, dealing with whatever brought him there to begin with.

“What do I do, Jac?” he asks, rubbing her ears. She must sense a shift in his emotions, because she headbutts his knees softly.

“I wish I could make it right, girl. How do I even do that when I don’t know if I’m the reason things went wrong to begin with?”

\---

**21st July 2020**

Quentin is looking out at the trees again, allowing his mind to go back to a white noise state again. At first, he doesn’t notice it when the flag goes up, but then he casually looks at the mailbox and sees that his reply has arrived.

_"You did mention your aversion to parties. You may or may not have made a comment that led me to think that Alice knew about it but chose to ignore it. I don’t want to shit talk, though. Not when she’s apparently my number one opponent in my quest to woo you._

_(Hey, if David says we’re a Disney story, then we have to play our parts to the fullest. I should find myself a kingdom. And horses, maybe. I should also get back on that sword-fighting thing. I’m a bit rusty.)”_

It draws a laugh out of Quentin. This is exactly what he needed. He didn’t know Eliot would be exchanging letters with him right now, but this airy feeling in his chest is precisely what Quentin sought at the lake house.

_“Are you sure you would have wanted me to stay? I may have accidentally insulted your favorite book by reducing it to being confusing but also kinda gay.”_

He feels the fond smile growing on his face and lets his mind wander back to his favorite book. He tries so desperately to grasp at a memory that keeps slipping through his fingers as if made of sand.

He remembers leaving the crowded house with a bottle of alcohol, walking outside in trembling legs and stumbling his way down to the backyard. He remembers looking up at the clear summer night sky and letting the vast darkness bring him down from the scary edge of another panic attack.

Then there was another presence beside him. He can’t quite recall how long he’d been sitting on the grass by himself, but he knows he didn’t feel like excusing himself away to find another silent corner. He didn’t cower away from this stranger’s presence.

Instead, he broke the ice and made it known that his presence was tolerated (and later, even _wanted_ ).

Quentin knows there was also some rambling involved, but he’s not sure if that’s particular to this memory he’s trying to get back or if it’s the knowledge that he always ends up rambling if he gets stuck on a subject for long enough.

He sighs and reads the last paragraph on the note.

_“Do you want to maybe text her? I’ll offer you any kind of support you may need, Q, but I’m worried I won’t be able to be there to help if things go bad. I’d feel safer knowing someone was looking out for you. Do you want to talk about it or…?”_

He hesitates. He feels okay, for now. Everything is calm. His mind is a mess and his heart is sore, but his breathing is under control. He decides not to worry about this for the time being and focuses on _Orlando_ instead.

\---

**21st July 2018**

This time, it takes a while longer for the flag to go up and Eliot wonders if that means Quentin has given up and gone home.

Muntjac has left her post beside him in favor of going on a solo walk around the lake. Eliot busied himself looking at the lake house and unconsciously drafting up some changes in his notebook while he waited.

Now, though, he leaves all that aside to get to Quentin’s letter.

_“Is it bad that I want you to? Woo me, or whatever you wanna call it, I mean. I just... You're so far away from me, but I feel cared for whenever you write to me. I like how it makes me feel._

_(I guess I, too, am playing my Disney part right. I wonder when we'll start breaking into song about how fated and impossible this whole thing is.)”_

If Eliot had any doubts about what he’s feeling for Quentin, the way his organs seem to do a weird joyful dance inside him and the overwhelming rush of happy chemicals rushing through his veins would have been a great clue.

As it stands, the fact that Quentin is basically giving him his approval to continue on his mission to seduce him only elevates him more. He doesn’t fight the stupid grin on his face, nor does he try to calm down his racing heart.

_“I can't blame you for having an opinion. Especially when it's true that Orlando can be a bit rough in terms of understanding. What's clear is the fact that you can tell that Virginia Woolf loved the woman she wrote this for. There's so much subtext (and, honestly, just plain text) about their love, it's crazy. It's one of the things that make me love it so much, I think._

_I know I was a bit... forward, and I'm sorry about it. It was equal parts me being drunk and me feeling like I truly connected to someone, for once. Someone who understood and saw past the surface. I was ready to talk to you about things I couldn't even talk to Alice about. Sure, you can say that, much like we did in writing, back when we talked about traumatic events of our pasts, it was because you were a stranger. But, I don't know, Eliot, it feels like it's because it's you. I feel comfortable and safe around you, like you won't judge me or force a change on anything that I don't want or feel prepared to change._

_With Alice... there was always a bit of pressure on her side, I think. She had this idealized version of me in her head and she tried to polish some rough parts of me so they'd fit when she shoved me in this neat little box labeled ‘Quentin’ in her mind. I think that's why she pushed for that party regardless of my feelings on it. She doesn't do it on purpose. There are no bad intentions, mind you, it’s just who she is.”_

That’s when the other shoe drops. He always assumed (which he should never have done to begin with) that Quentin was either letting him flirt to keep things fun or that he may even be interested in pursuing something (if they ever found a way out of this mess). He didn’t even stop to think that Quentin might have someone already.

Meeting Alice was an unexpected punch to the gut, but since Quentin had never mentioned her, he let himself believe that she was out of the picture and not even something Eliot should bother himself with.

But the way Quentin talks now, somewhat vaguely, he can’t help but question it all over again.

He scratches his head and looks out into the lake, trying to find the best words to express everything he wants to say and ask.

\---

**21st July 2020**

This time, Quentin sits down and stares at the mailbox. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll stay. He does have another shift at work tomorrow, and if he leaves soon enough, maybe he can still stop by Julia’s for a friendly word of advice.

He takes a step back when the flag suddenly goes up, but when he steps forward again, he’s calm and collected.

He’s starting to get to that point where things just come off mechanical and automatic. Maybe he really needs to go before it gets too overwhelming.

For now, though, he unfolds Eliot’s letter and reads.

_“Fuck, Quentin. You can't just give me carte blanche like that. You'll unleash a monster in me, and I'm not sure you realize what you're getting yourself into. I wasn't even sure if you'd be interested in this with me. I mean, I'm not one to assume things, but you did have a girlfriend – I guess you still do, technically. On my end at least. Are you guys still...?”_

“Shit. If Julia were here, she would hit me for being so damn dumb,” he mumbles to himself.

She was right in thinking Eliot would probably wonder about Alice.

But, fuck, if he doesn’t want Eliot to prove him wrong. He wants so badly to believe that there was a perfectly good reason for Eliot not to call him that isn’t about him not feeling the same way about Quentin anymore.

He wants this thing between them to be real. He wants to be loved by this man and learn to love him in return.

How can he let go of his insecurities and let himself fall without a safety net?

_“I'm also starting to wonder if you like Orlando for its actual plot or because of what it meant in Virginia Woolf's life. Don't tell me you're a romantic. I may just sign away my heart right here, right now._

_Back to serious land, though, I feel the same way, Q. You're different, somehow. I did get to be with you and feel you in my arms yesterday, so I guess I have that advantage over you, but I don't think you realize how hard it was to let you go after having you right there, a real, living, breathing boy lying on the grass beside me. Even now, knowing exactly where you are... But I have to stay away, you know? For now, at least._

_Don't doubt that what I feel for you is any less stupid and intense than what you say you feel for me, because I'm torturing myself here doing the right thing and waiting for the right moment, when it's okay for us to meet again. I want you to know who I am when we do. You're cute and easy to talk to anyway, don't get me wrong, but having this version of you, the one who writes me these letters, standing in front of me for real... that will be our Disney-like happy ever after, Q. And I want that so bad._

_That reminds me, you still haven’t told me about the phone call. Is that why you’re here, at the lake house? Did I do or say something wrong? Consider this my preemptive apology for any fuck up.”_

And there it is. That’s the whole issue, isn’t it? Quentin can’t point his finger at Eliot, but he’s giving him whiplash and Quentin needs a break.

He takes a deep breath and writes everything down.

Once he’s done, he slips it in the mailbox, closes the lid and walks away without looking back.

\---

**21st July 2018**

Having brought up _Orlando_ again, Eliot knew better than to expect a speedy reply.

Muntjac has finished her rounds and has made her way back to him. Together they sit in front of the mailbox, waiting for Quentin to get back to Eliot.

A few minutes later, it finally comes through, and Eliot’s anxiety gets the best of him. He almost rips the lid off in his haste to get to the letter inside.

“Calm the hell down,” he tells himself. “You’re not a fucking high schooler waiting on his crush’s notes in the middle of a class.”

He takes a deep breath and starts reading.

_“I think my love for Orlando comes from a mix of both of those things. Orlando as a character fascinates me, and I do appreciate the themes in this book. I believe that society shouldn't put you in these very rigid boxes that tell you how you should act or feel based on your sex. I think that's where a lot of toxic behaviors come from. Not to mention that we (society) force these roles on kids from such an early age that it's hard to shake them off later in life, no matter how educated they get on it. It becomes almost second nature, and that's just wrong. You should be free to be who you are and not what other people say you should be._

_On the other hand, the forbidden love between Woolf and Vita Sackville-West grew and flourished between hundreds of poetic letters exchanged, and it's not like Woolf could write an explicit lesbian love story back then, so she cleverly stitched it into Orlando. Ah, Eliot, it's so amazing. I could talk about it for days.”_

He smiles down at the letter. Of course. Eliot stroked the nerd side of Quentin, so this was to be expected.

_“Ah, oh god, Julia told me to say it and I forgot, sorry. Alice and I aren’t together anymore. I think she’s trying to get back to what we were, but I’m not the same person I was. Besides, I didn’t know you yet. Not like I do now._

_We went out for a drink the other day. I thought it was a friendly hang out kind of situation where we catch up on what the other had been doing for the last few months. It started off like that, but then she began trying to make me feel nostalgic about our relationship, saying we could try again. I don’t think that would work._

_I guess that’s why I’m here. I know Alice cares about me, and I care about her, but not the way she wants me to. Not anymore._

_And then there’s you._

_You’re not the only one struggling with two versions of me here. You met a Quentin that doesn’t know you and feel saddened by the reality that he doesn’t yet feel the way I do for you._

_However, I am in a different kind of pickle here. I fall more and more with each letter full of emotion that you send me, with every little thing you do all the way back in 2018 so I can reap it in 2020, and I feel loved, Eliot._

_But you didn’t call. I waited all night. I kept my phone on me and kept checking to make sure I hadn’t missed you somehow. The reality, though, is that you never even tried, and I’m not sure what to make of that._

_So, yeah, I’m at the lake house right now, reaching out to you, knowing you’re reading this right now, in your own time, knowing plain well that you can’t do anything about it because you don’t know any better than I do why you wouldn’t call. If your feelings for me run as deep as you say they do, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to me in real time._

_Especially when it seemed so easy for you to do all the way back in 2018._

_I’m sorry, Eliot. I think I need to go now. I’m gonna call Jules and see if I can drop by for a quick chat before going home and calling it a night._

_Don’t worry, I’m not angry at you. Either one of you._

_-Q”_

Eliot stands there, clutching the letter. It feels like his stomach plummeted from the top of a cliff. He frowns and his throat goes dry.

Muntjac whines next to him, going up on her hind legs and licking at what she can reach of Eliot’s frozen arm.

He’s once again thrown into the dark abyss.

First, he leaves Muntjac. Now he doesn’t call Quentin.

“What the fuck happens in the next two years? This isn’t… I don’t…”

Eventually, he resigns himself to not having any answers any time soon.

Quentin has gone home, so it’s no use writing him anything right now. He wouldn’t even know what to say anyway.

Back inside the house, he removes his shoes, lets the letter drop on the coffee table and walks towards the bedroom.

He removes the rest of his clothes until he’s down to his underwear. Then he lets himself fall back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, trying and failing to make any sense of it.

How can he feel so much towards the two new additions to his life and then leave them like that?


	5. And miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot will be dealing with a lot of lows in this one.  
> Quentin and Eliot set up a meeting in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol featuring Martha Wainwright.  
> It's pretty much angst from here onward, with some moments of release. But things will get better, I promise!  
> TW: A character dies and there's some grieving. Quentin has another anxiety attack when dealing with some terrible possibilities. Mentions of a real life person's suicide.

**11th August 2018**

Eliot makes his way to his desk and sits down heavily.

They’ve been making good progress with the construction work, but the pressure of the deadlines won’t let up and he’s trying to keep everyone motivated to continue with the great work.

He’s also told himself to keep his personal business out of the door. Keep it back home, even, if possible. A couple of days ago, Quentin had finally broken the silence. He told Eliot he’d take the leap of faith and put his heart on the line, but it was obvious he was more cautious now.

Eliot had been happy about his decision, of course, but the emptiness inside him hasn’t gone away yet. Even though Quentin has told him again that he doesn’t blame him for what happened (or didn’t happen, in this case), Eliot can’t be as lenient with himself.

In his mind, he’s fucking up a perfectly good thing, like he always does. The difference here is that he doesn’t know when or how it happens and can’t even begin to ask Margo or David to help him put a stop to it.

The both of them continue to be very hopeful and supportive.

“Eliot, you planted a tree where there weren’t any just because this guy said he missed it. You’re already changing things. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Maybe you knowing you didn’t call somehow will make it so the next time you guys try to set something up, you’ll definitely be there,” his brother had told him when Eliot gave him the news.

He is _not_ going to be thinking about that right now. There’s work to do and he needs to get better at compartmentalizing, anyway. This is as good a time as any to start.

He’s reaching for some of the plans on his desk when his cell phone rings. He pulls it out and looks at the screen, but he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

_“Good afternoon. Is this Eliot Waugh I’m speaking to?”_

He frowns. What could this possibly be about?

“Yeah, this is him. What’s this about?”

_“You are listed as James Waugh’s family contact in our records. He was admitted to the Chicago City Hospital earlier, but he’s stable now. We wanted to inform you and to ask if you could stop by to fill in some forms for us.”_

That makes him sit up straighter. Why are they calling him and not David? Surely he’d be the brother their father picked as the main contact for these sorts of things. Especially after Eliot vanished for 4 years before without any notice.

_“Mr. Waugh?”_

He breaks out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there right away.”

He hangs up and grabs his keys. He considers calling David, but then concludes that it’s probably better to call him once he has more details.

The drive there is nerve-wracking, to say the least. He’s confused by his father’s attitude. Was he always the main contact in the file? Did he change it recently? What made him do that?

Part of him is also worried. It doesn’t matter that his father has hurt him so much in the past and Eliot still resents him for it. The fact that he got a call from the hospital saying his father ended up there somehow resulted in a wave of irrational fear cursing through him.

Eliot finally reaches the hospital, making his way to the reception desk.

“Hi. Someone called me regarding my father, James Waugh. Can you tell me where he is?” he asks the receptionist, showing her his ID.

Before she can tell him anything, however, someone approaches the desk and addresses Eliot.

“Mr. Waugh, the architect?” the woman asks.

“Yeah, that's him,” Eliot confirms.

“I'm Dr. Lipson. I'm the attending for your father.”

“Oh, hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand for her to shake. “I'm his son, Eliot Waugh. Can you tell me what happened? They told me he was stable now, but that was all.”

The doctor nods at him and explains in a kind voice.

“He's had a mild heart attack. His vitals are fine now, but it'll require an intervention. We've already talked to him about it and he's agreed to schedule it for tomorrow.”

He frowns at her. If it was something minor, why the need for an intervention?

“Oh,” he says, not sure what else to add. “Should I worry?”

She shakes her head at him.

“It shouldn't be anything too serious,” she reassures him.

He nods and wrings his fingers together, suddenly nervous.

“Can I see him?” he asks in a small, unsure voice.

“Of course,” she smiles encouragingly at him. “Follow me, please.”

The doctor leads him down a few corridors before pointing at a closed door.

“Here, this is his room. I'll leave you two to it.”

He stands there for a couple minutes longer, gathering the courage to face his father again. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him on the other side of that door and he’s uncertain if his newfound softness towards his father’s situation will be preyed on by the man himself.

With a deep breath, Eliot takes a step forward, opens the door and walks inside before he loses his nerve.

He finds his father, glasses balancing on the tip of his nose, drawing lines on the paper. Apparently, a heart attack isn’t enough to pull him away from his so loved work.

Eliot lets out a humorless laugh, mentally cursing himself for worrying about someone who doesn’t even feel human anymore.

The sound makes James look away from his sketches to find his son standing at the door. They both freeze, looking at each other, a mix of feelings reflecting in their gazes.

“Good to see you're doing better,” Eliot breaks the silence, tone slightly bitter. “Where did you even get all of this stuff?”

His father ignores the question, focusing back on his sketch.

“You didn't need to come. I'm fine, as you can see,” James tries to shrug it off instead, but Eliot didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed upon his son’s entrance.

“Sure you are. I mean, you had a heart attack, dad, but you’re perfectly fine, of course,” he replies with sarcasm, approaching the bed and peeking at his father’s work.

“There you go exaggerating things like you usually do. It was a minor thing. Not even worth mentioning,” his father grumbles, his eyes not straying from the paper in front of him.

Eliot scoffs and shrugs. He buries his hands in his pockets, not wanting his father to see how this whole thing has affected him.

“You know, I don’t know why I expected anything different from you. I come here with no intention to pick a fight and you’re already reaching for the next stone to throw.”

If his father’s hand stops briefly in its constant tracing, Eliot will blame it on a trick of the light, because there’s no way his father is showing any sort of feeling. When no reply comes, he lets out a breath.

“Ok, whatever. I’ll be sitting outside until David can get here. Let me know if you need anything.”

He turns around to leave the room, feeling like a fool for thinking this would change anything between him and his father.

“A coffee would be nice,” comes his father’s voice behind his back. “Black, no sugar.”

Eliot doesn’t dare to turn at that, but he can’t ignore that it sounded a lot like an olive branch. Though, this being his father, he’ll never outright tell Eliot he’d like his son to stick around. He shakes it off, letting out an amused chuckle.

“Coffee. Of course.”

“Get one for yourself, if you’re gonna stick around,” comes the gravelly voice from the bed behind him.

Eliot looks back as he opens the door, but his father is already nose deep into his project. He shakes his head and leaves him to his work.

\---

**13th August 2020**

Things have been different lately. As Quentin pulls up to the lake house that afternoon he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have told Eliot about the call.

They still exchange letters, and Eliot still makes his jokes and throws in a random line that succeeds in warming up Quentin’s cheeks, but it seems practiced. Quentin’s keeping his word, though, and he’s putting himself out there, letting himself go with eyes closed.

He enjoys the attention he gets from the other man and he’s not going to let himself feel bad about it. And he’s not thinking about the call anymore.

Muntjac jumps from the car as soon as Quentin opens the door for her. She sniffs at the mailbox and looks back to see if Quentin is following, but as soon as he approaches, she keeps on walking towards the lake.

Quentin opens the lid and reaches inside for the letter waiting for him. He wonders if he’ll get a hint of the old Eliot in this one.

_“So there's something I haven't told you yet, Q._

_This house you're staring at? My dad built it. He was fully invested in this project. His own two hands went into this, from paper to reality._

_I was probably 8 or something when I found the first plans for it on his desk. He didn’t like it much when David and I ended up playing in his office, because there was always a chance that we would accidentally make a mess of his work. That day, though, he was by the window on his phone._

_I don’t even remember why I did it, but the door was ajar and I walked in. While his back was turned, I walked up to his desk and looked at all the instruments and the drafts he had on it._

_When he hung up, he found me gripping the edge of the desk and pushing myself on my tiptoes so I could see the drawing better. He walked up to his chair, sat down and then pulled me onto his lap._

_He pointed and asked me what I thought about a house by a lake, where David and I could play during the summer. I said I thought it was a great idea, and that maybe we could even get a small boat and go fishing. It was like he was asking me if I wanted him to build us this house, but I didn’t know it then._

_From then on, whenever he was working on the sketches for this project, he’d pull up a chair and let me sit beside him to watch him draw all of those lines, using all those instruments I’d seen on the table that first time._

_It was a long time ago. Back then, he was still head over heels for my mom and actually cared about me and my brother._

_You know about David already._

_Today, I'll tell you about my mom._

_Her name was Melissa, and the lake house was a gift for her. My dad poured everything into this and had her in mind when doing it._

_She was really funny, but she had a particular sense of humor that not everyone understood. She was so smart... she could have gone out to be someone just as great as my dad (in other areas, I'm sure), but she chose to let him go on ahead while she stayed behind and took care of me and my brother. It allowed my dad more freedom to go to all of those places where we couldn't follow._

_In the end, I think that's what ruined him. My mom's love set him free and he never once looked back. Not anymore. We all watched as he became more and more distant the more successful he became._

_Living in this house was like the constant crackle of electricity from a storm about to roll in. When that breaking point finally hit, my mom packed up her things and left him. Left us._

_We didn't know it then – not yet – but she was sick. I remember my brother being mad at her for leaving us with a parent that was barely there, but we learned later that she couldn't have taken care of us for much longer. She could barely take care of herself, really._

_Not even a full year later, she got sick very fast. David and I would ask our grandmother to come pick us up from school so we could go see her._

_What really got to me was that she always asked after my dad. And before our grandmother took us back home, she always made us promise to look after him._

_"He doesn't know how to take care of himself. He loses track of time. Loses track of the real world," she'd tell us._

_I wanted to shake her and yell at her._

_What was she doing, still caring about that asshole who didn't care about her enough to stop her from leaving in the first place?_

_She loved him until the very end and he didn’t even go to her funeral._

_Do you know what he told me when I confronted him about it? He told me she was dead to him the moment she set foot out of the house he had created for our family._

_This was his proudest achievement and he never forgave her for leaving it behind. What he failed to see was that he was the first one to walk away._

_I've never hated someone as much as I hated him that day. He simply grinned at me, completely unaffected by the whole thing, and went back to his fucking office to work on more projects. That was all he cared about, after all._

_Soon after, I also came to realize that I would never be good enough for James Waugh, the amazing award-winning architect. There wasn’t enough about me or my work that would ever make him happy, and I would grow to resent him for it._

_But, Quentin, I've also learned that you can hate someone so much and still love them._

_You see, when you care about someone, those feelings don't immediately evaporate the moment they let you down and fuck it all up beyond repair._

_So, no matter how fucking bad my dad's disappointed me and my whole family, when I got a call earlier today saying that he'd been admitted to the Chicago City Hospital, I couldn't help but leave everything behind to go be by his side._

_And the joke’s on me, because he still doesn’t appreciate it. He simply doesn’t care anymore._

_I’m starting to wonder if he ever did.”_

“That’s… not what I was expecting at all,” Quentin comments out loud. “How do I even reply to a letter like this, Eliot?”

Muntjac comes trotting back up from the lake. Quentin scratches behind her ears when she approaches him.

“What do I say to make this better somehow, Jac?”

She huffs and pulls away from his fingers, going back to sniffing at the grass.

“You’re of no help to me. Why do I even keep you around anymore?”

They both know very well why Quentin cherishes her even more now than he did before this year, but Muntjac decides to go on her way instead of embarrassing him.

\---

**13th August 2018**

“You didn’t come empty handed this time, I see,” is the greeting Eliot gets from his father when he returns to his hospital room.

“I hope this is actual coffee,” he continues, holding his hand out for Eliot to give him the paper cup.

“Well, this one didn’t come from the cafeteria downstairs, so unless I was charged twice more for the same thing...”

He lets his father have the cup and watches him lift the plastic lid and smell that nice and intense roasted aroma.

“You know,” Eliot continues as he pulls up a chair to sit beside his father’s hospital bed. “I promised your attending that it was my cup and that I’d finish it before walking in, so you better appreciate it. If it tastes like shit, don’t tell me. Just keep on drinking or throw it away when I leave.”

He sits on the chair and peaks at what his father has on the table in front of him. James takes a sip of the hot drink and makes a non-committal humming sound. Eliot ignores it.

“Thank you, son,” his father acknowledges sometime later.

Eliot looks up at James and the almost soft tone coming from him. It’s been a while since he’s heard it. Years, even.

“You’re welcome,” he replies in a small voice.

“Where’s David?” James asks after a few seconds of silence.

“He, uh, he had to go back because of the kids. He wanted to wait until you woke up, but he still had a long drive home, so I sent him on his way and told him to come back tomorrow or something.”

His father hums, putting down the paper cup and focusing on what’s in front of him.

“David takes after your mother. He worries too much. She was like that, too.”

The words he wrote in his last letter to Quentin come to mind and Eliot looks away from his father. He clears his throat and points at the plans his father was looking at.

“So what’s all this?”

That seems to bring his father back to the present and he looks between his son and the folder in front of him, moving his cup to his side table so he can pick up all the papers and hand them to Eliot.

“It’s a proposal for a museum. Take a look and tell me what you think.”

Eliot takes them and leans back on his chair. He looks down and flips through the pages.

“I can’t say I’ve never seen something like this, but I like the use of the light. They clearly wanted the walkways to benefit from it as much as possible.”

Though he doesn’t say it, his brain is taking mental notes of the materials used and the purpose of each of them. He curses this technical part of him that won’t let him appreciate things such as this at face value anymore.

“Remember our trip to Barcelona?”

Eliot looks up from the plans and frowns at his father.

“When we went with mom and David?”

“Yeah. Remember Casa de la Caritat?”

Eliot nods absentmindedly and it all falls in place. He knows what his father is trying to get at.

“Richard Meier’s Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art.” He looks back down at his plans. “That’s what this reminds me of. It’s a good project,” he repeats, closing and patting the folder.

When he hands it back to his father, James has a proud look on his face.

“Meier designed a series of louvered skylights to capture light and cast it inward to illuminate the art within, but indirectly. He wanted the light to enhance the art, not degrade it.” He took the plans back and put them on the bed between them. “Now, with that in mind, where do you think they want to build this?”

Eliot knows exactly what his father is trying to do, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

“I don’t know,” he lies, shrugging for good measure.

His father squints at him.

“Come on, now, Eliot. You know as well as I do that light hits differently in different parts of the world. A true architect who wants his works to stand the tests of time will learn to work _with_ the environment instead of _against_ it. He always has to take the light into account. Always.”

Eliot hates himself for doing it, but while part of him has stubbornly turned off from his father’s great architectural speeches, the other one, the one that he can’t turn off no matter what, is listening attentively to what he’s saying.

No matter how much bad blood is between them, James is still a great architect and Eliot would be stupid to disregard the lessons and advice born from a lifetime working on this. Even if it came at the expense of ruining their family.

He does take a five-minute break some time later to eat something. When he returns, his father is asleep.

_“Please, look after him,”_ is what echoes in his mind as he pushes the table with all of his sketches to the side and pulls the covers up.

He sits on the chair with a deep sigh and prepares for a very uncomfortable nap.

\---

**14th August 2020**

Curiosity gets the best of him, so as soon as his shift ends, Quentin gets on a computer and looks up a _James Waugh_ in the records.

He confirms the date of admittance and starts reading the notes.

“Suffered a heart attack…. Minor surgery…”

He keeps reading and scrolling. When he reaches the end of the page, he freezes.

The records show that he passed away in the early afternoon, on the 14th of August of 2018.

Checking the date on his phone to make sure, Quentin gulps.

“Fuck,” he curses and immediately closes everything.

He grabs his things in a hurry and runs to his car.

On a regular day, Eliot will have come home from work at this time, but Quentin doesn’t hold out hope that he’ll be there when he arrives at the lake house.

When he parks his car there, he realizes he doesn’t know exactly what to tell Eliot, apart from the typical “my condolences”. Eliot deserves way better than that.

So he sits, watching the empty glass house that now holds a whole different meaning, and he waits for the words to come to him.

\---

**14th August 2018**

Eliot left the hospital when David arrived to visit their father. He told Eliot to go home and get some rest, maybe even get some work done.

Just as he parks his car in front of the house, he gets a call from his brother.

“David?” he asks, already feeling his stomach tie up in knots.

_“I’m sorry, Eliot. He fell asleep for a moment and then he was gone,”_ David explains, voice trembling.

“I’ll be right there,” Eliot replies, hanging up and turning the key in the ignition again.

He swallows the sudden ball of emotions stuck in his throat and wipes at his eyes every time his vision gets too watery for him to see the road clearly.

\---

**15th August 2020**

Quentin has his day off work and he decides to do some investigating. He remembers Eliot saying his father had been working on some sort of memoir before he died. Could he have finished it in time?

With some help from the internet, Quentin finds out that it was released in late 2019. He looks up the closest bookstores from his place and decides to go on a hunt for this book.

He’s never intentionally been to any architecture section of a bookstore before, and it takes him looking for this particular book in 4 different stores before he finds it – and the little “whoop” combined with the little happy dance he does are totally worth it.

When he gets home, he flips through it to learn more about the man himself. Even though the book focuses mostly on his works, there’s a nice section about the lake house and his family.

Reading it already knowing Eliot’s side of the story is an experience, to say the least. The text seems very objective and talks about the reason behind the creation of this house, but it completely ignores how the family fell apart soon after they made their home there.

It’s bittersweet, but there are some notes written by James Waugh himself that Quentin wants Eliot to read.

The next time he drives to the lake house, he takes it with him.

\---

**15th August 2018**

It’s way past midnight when Eliot makes it back home. David suggested he take his days off work and come stay with his family for a little while. Eliot agreed, but told David he needed to drop by the house to get his things, get Muntjac, and lock it all up before leaving.

They spent most of the day filling up paperwork and making calls to deliver the sad news. He’s letting David handle all the press-related calls.

Eliot parks the car and sits there. He knows the paradox of feelings he’s going through – the numbness yet overwhelming tornado of grief – is normal. And it’s not like it’s the first time he’s lost someone. It’s just hard to reconcile the grief of losing a parent and the residual anger towards them burning out.

He sits there for so long that he sees the headlights from David’s car pulling up behind him before Eliot even makes it into the house.

He forces himself into action then, removing the keys from the ignition and getting out of the car.

“Hey,” his brother calls out from a few feet away. “You alright?”

Eliot shrugs. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore. All I know is I’m exhausted.”

David nods in understanding and approaches him, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes are bloodshot.

“Let’s go get your things, yeah?”

Eliot nods and lets himself be led into the house.

Muntjac seems to sense the mood, for she doesn’t tackle him on sight as she usually does. Instead, she follows him around the house as he packs the things he needs.

“El!” David calls out to him.

Eliot finishes locking his door and looks up at his brother. He’s standing next to the mailbox.

“I think you’ve got mail,” he finishes.

Muntjac walks in front of him this time. Eliot reaches the mailbox and gets the letter that’s inside it, but he can’t bring himself to open it now.

David squeezes his arm and starts walking towards the car. They decided to leave Eliot’s car behind. He takes one last look at the house and makes his way to his brother’s car. He opens the back door for Muntjac and then gets into the passenger seat.

It’s a tough thing to get a hold of his feelings when he sees David’s wife, Amanda, is standing outside the door when they pull up to their house.

He watches his brother take a deep breath and exit the car, walking slowly towards her open arms. When he reaches her, they fold around him and rub his back in soothing circles.

David’s shoulders shake and he seems to grip his wife even closer.

Eliot can see that she has tears in her eyes too. He watches her murmur something against David’s neck before placing a kiss there. Then she takes his face in her hands and wipes at his eyes.

The letter in his pocket feels like lead as he thinks about how much he wants someone to hug him like that, too.

As if reading his thoughts, Amanda looks up at him and gives him a sad smile. She pulls away from David, dropping a loving kiss on his cheek and moves down towards the car. That’s when Eliot realizes he hasn’t even unbuckled his seatbelt or left the passenger seat yet.

He gets out and grabs his bag from the back seat, letting Muntjac jump out of the car as well.

He watches her rub her soft fur against Amanda’s legs. She chuckles and caresses her for a moment while she waits for Eliot to grab everything and make his way to the house.

When he reaches her, he puts everything down and she hugs him just as tight as she did with her husband.

“I’m so sorry, El. We’re here for you, okay?”

She pulls back and he nods down at her.

“The kids will love to see you and they’ll provide a good distraction from things for a little bit,” she continues.

She gives him another small smile and he can’t help but to smile back at the thought of his niece and nephew demanding his attention for as long as he stays at their house.

“I prepared the guest room for you as soon as David called. You’re no stranger in this house, so feel free to get anything you need from the kitchen or bathroom or any other place here. You’re family, Eliot. There’s a place for you in this house for as long as you need.”

He swallows his emotions and lets out a small choked up “thank you” as he picks up his things again and follows her inside.

Once he’s settled into the guest room and has put on a loose pair of pants and a t-shirt, he grabs the letter again to read it.

_“Hey._

_I’ve just learned about your father. I’m so sorry, Eliot._

_I wish with all my heart that I could be there with you. I wish you could tell me all about this house and show me all the little things a younger version of you suggested your father add to or change in his original plans for it._

_I also wish I could be there to hug you and be a friend through all of this._

_Writing my condolences down on paper feels almost impersonal, as if I’m writing a note on a card that goes with a common bouquet of flowers that will get lost among all the others from other friends, estranged family members or random acquaintances._

_My present’s version of you, wherever you are right now, has had two years to grieve. Even if I found you today, somewhere out there, it wouldn’t be the same._

_Please know that I’m thinking of you and that I desperately wanted to be there for you._

_Much love,_

_Quentin”_

Eliot sighs and folds the letter again. He places it on the nightstand and looks at the wall in front of him for a minute or so.

He feels numb to everything right now. His heart is stupidly overwhelmed with affection for this person he so desperately wants to be with, but he’s also so devoid of feeling right now that he can’t even appreciate it.

So he lies down on the bed, turns off the lights and hopes that the morning will bring him some peace.

\---

**20th August 2018**

David pulls up to the lake house early, so that Eliot has time to take a shower and prepare things before going back to work.

The last few days have felt like a well-deserved break from everything. His brother’s kids, Emma and Noah, certainly did their best to lift the spirits of the adults at the house, and Eliot will admit to some envy for not having that pure and naïve positive outlook on life.

Unfortunately, the show must go on and Eliot needs to get back to work.

“I know I don’t live super close,” David starts as he watches Eliot unbuckle his seatbelt. “But if you need anything, I’m only a phone call away. You’re not alone, ok?”

Eliot exits the car and opens the back door so Muntjac can leave, too.

“Don’t worry,” he says as he picks up his bag from the backseat. “Margo has been waiting for me to return to smother me.”

“Then I shall rest easier.”

They both chuckle.

“I’ll call you later, El.”

Eliot rolls his eyes as he closes the doors and leans on the open window of the passenger side.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“I know,” David agrees. “But I want to because I worry and I care.”

Eliot nods, a rush of affection courses through him.

“Okay. We’ll talk later, then.”

He straightens up and waves as David drives away from the lake house.

Muntjac is sitting by the mailbox when he turns around. She whines and noses at the pole holding it in place.

Eliot approaches it and gathers everything that’s inside it. There are a couple of letters and cards and also a large book.

“Why would someone send me a book?” he wonders out loud.

He shoves it under his arm and makes his way down to the house.

They both get inside and Eliot fills up Muntjac’s water and food bowls. While she’s busy with that, he goes through the letters and cards. Someone at work must have told everyone else about his father.

As he goes through them, he makes his way to the couch in the living room. He sits down just as he reaches a letter from Quentin. He puts the book and the other letters down and opens it.

_“I know we’ve talked about keeping the spoilers to a minimum, but this is the one thing I want you to have that I think will make you feel better._

_If I somehow end up fucking up the natural order of things because of this, then I apologize and hope you know I did it with the best of intentions. Just keep it away from the press and we should be fine._

_You’ll have to wait about a year and some change to see it on the shelves out there, but I don’t think you should have to wait that long to get your hands on a copy of it._

_I hope that knowing you were loved will set you free from your troubled past._

_-Q”_

“Ok, so you sent the book. And you also know I’m not really a reader, so what’s this about, Quentin?”

He reaches for the book again and pays attention to its cover for the first time.

_“Life and Work of James Waugh,”_ it reads. He takes a moment to get his emotions in check and then he opens it.

Leafing through it, he sees many familiar buildings, things he knows his father was always proud of. There are sections dedicated to his award winning projects and then some honorable mentions.

For each of them, the book goes into detail about their style, the materials used in their construction, and the original drafts for some of the projects.

There are also some notes written by his father about discussions that had happened and led to the creation of his best works.

He’s rolling his eyes while turning the page, wondering why the hell Quentin thought this would make him feel loved right now.

However, when he looks down, the breath is punched out of his lungs when he sees the lake house.

There’s a picture of it smack in the middle of the page, probably taken as soon as the house was ready. It’s furnished, but the family hadn’t moved in yet.

His fingers trace the glass walls, looking at the different sketches around it that show its evolution through time.

He squints at one of them. It reads “ _Eliot suggested we create a platform underneath so we can dock a boat to take on rides around the lake_ ”.

Eliot gulps and blinks faster.

“You will not cry over this, Eliot Waugh.”

He keeps reading about how James designed this house for his family and how he planned on surprising his wife with it.

_“Melissa was beside herself when she saw it. She thought it would be great for the kids to be around nature. She was also quite fond of the sunsets on the lake that could be seen from the many rooms of the house.”_

Eliot remembers finding his mother looking outside the glass doors, a peaceful smile on her lips, as the setting sun reflected oranges and pinks on her face.

The tears fill his eyes and his vision swims before him. He wipes at his face and keeps reading.

_“One of my biggest regrets was never telling my son Eliot how glad I was that he wanted to help me with this. He gave it a new life I wouldn’t be able to grasp. I only wish things hadn’t derailed as fast as they did. I think this place could only benefit from his ideas. He was always the most creative of my two sons, and I can’t begin to put into words how proud I was when he first told me he wanted to be an architect just like me. If he ever reads this, I hope he knows that, even though I didn’t always show it – and I should have, I know this now – I loved him dearly and his success, even if he’s chosen a different path than mine, always brought me great happiness.”_

Next to it is a picture of a young Eliot and his father, standing by the mailbox, their backs to the camera as they look at the house below.

The book drops open on the floor the second his tears start to run down his face. He falls to his knees on the carpet right beside it, uncontrollable sobs racking his whole body.

Muntjac approaches him, hearing his distress and starts licking at his wet face. She whines and places her paw on his thigh, trying to give him some sort of comfort, but not knowing how exactly to make it better when her owner only seems to cry harder.

“It’s okay, girl,” he whimpers once he’s calmed down. “It’ll be alright, I promise. I just need time to deal with all of this, and they say it’s better to let it all out, so,” he lets out a choked up laugh.

Eliot gets up, leaving the book behind. He motions at her and she follows him to the bedroom.

There, he lies down and curls up around a pillow, deciding to go into work only later. She jumps on the bed and lies in front of him, her eyes never leaving his face. She places her head on her front paws and huffs, waiting for any changes.

Eliot reaches out and pets her. She lifts her head to lick at his hand. He chuckles and it turns into another sob.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to lose you,” he admits to her, overwhelmed by a deep sorrow.

When sleep finally takes him under, he falls into an endless and dreamless darkness.

\---

**9th September 2020**

It’s the third time in as many weeks that Quentin has driven to the lake house. He’s worried about Eliot, but he also wants to give him some time and space to grieve on his own.

The selfish part of him hopes there’ll be a letter for him this time, though. The anticipation hasn’t been too kind on his nerves.

He cranes his neck as he drives down the path that leads to the house, trying to see the mailbox, looking for a raised red flag.

His shoulders relax and the tense air leaves his lungs when he sees it. He parks in front of the mailbox and is immediately hit by a breeze coming from the lake.

Quentin takes measured steps towards his goal, opening the lid and reaching for the note he finds inside.

_“I’m sorry, dear Quentin._

_What you did was one of the kindest things someone has ever done for me and I want you to know how grateful I am for it._

_The thing is, I’ve been dealing with so much lately in terms of my emotions and all the highs and lows that I didn’t even know how to put into words how much this meant to me now, but also how much it’s wrecked me that it’s too late for me to even talk to him about it.”_

“Shit, did I fuck things up?” he wonders out loud, looking at the trees around him, branches dancing in the wind.

_“Before you start stressing about it, it was a good thing that you sent me this book. You are right, it does change a few things for me. It puts things into perspective, one I had no idea about before I’d read it. Even if I can’t confront him about this anymore, it’s nice to know that it’s there, and that he genuinely cared._

_I won’t lie and say it makes it all better. That man has hurt me a lot in the past, either intentional or unintentionally, and a few heartfelt lines in a biographical work won’t suddenly erase all of that. However, it does bring some peace to my mind and it makes me feel like I actually did things that mattered and that he approved of._

_Overall, it was simply nice to know that, underneath that cold, harsh exterior, my dad still had a heart buried there somewhere._

_Thank you so much, Quentin. My heart is overflowing with joy – even if part of it is still grieving – and I don’t even know how to quiet it down._

_Things would be so much easier if we were at the same place and at the same time..._

_Love,_

_El”_

Quentin folds the letter and runs his fingers through his hair.

It’s been a while since the failed phone call happened, but the overwhelming desire to be with this man always sends his heart aflutter.

Deciding to put it down on the line again and setting himself up for another potential disappointment, Quentin pens it down before he can second guess himself.

_“Do you want to try to meet up again?”_

He shoves it in the mailbox, heat rushing to his cheeks. He lifts the little red flag and walks back to his car.

\---

**9th September 2018**

“And then Noah told daddy we should get a dog,” his niece, Emma, was telling him through the video call. “But I told him that we probably won’t find another dog like Jac and any other won’t ever be as good.”

Eliot laughed.

“So, let me get this straight: you want a cat, but your brother wants a dog, so you’re campaigning and want me to take your side.”

“Exactly,” she replies proudly, puffing out her chest.

“But, Uncle El, it doesn’t matter to me,” Noah protests. “I know we won’t get another Jac. I still want a dog we can play with and add to the family.”

“As you see, brother mine,” David interrupts from behind his children, “you’ve turned them into little monsters who won’t stop bothering me with this idea of getting a pet.”

Eliot shrugs, amused smile still in place.

“I mean, they’re your kids, David…”

He watches the children turn towards their father, no doubt giving him pleading looks. David sighs and points a finger at the camera.

“One day you’ll have your own kids and I’ll turn them against you, like you’re doing right now, and then we’ll see who laughs.”

Muntjac starts barking loudly and runs towards the front door. Eliot looks up at the mailbox and sees the raised flag.

“See? They can also get super loud. You’ll get tired of it,” Emma points out to her brother, who immediately starts arguing in favor of dogs.

“I’ll be right back,” Eliot says over their bickering.

He goes outside to get the note from the mailbox. It’s scribbled on the back of the last letter he sent Quentin.

When he returns to his place in front of the computer, there’s only David on the screen.

“Where are the kids?”

David shrugs. “Told them to go ask mom.”

Eliot shakes his head and chuckles.

“Did you get a letter from your prince?” his brother asks him.

Eliot waves it in front of the camera.

“He wants to meet face to face.”

“Hey, so do you! This is great!”

Eliot looks away and his shoulders drop.

“What? What’s wrong?” his brother asks as soon as he sees a change in demeanor.

He puts the letter down beside his laptop.

“David, we tried this before and it didn’t work. I was supposed to call and didn’t. We’ll have to set something up for two years from now. Who knows what’ll happen until then?”

His brother is silent for a moment, a frown on his face.

“Ok,” he starts. “You’ll talk to him and go over those details. You guys will pick a time and a place, and then you’ll give him your number so he can reach you if you don’t show up or something.”

Eliot’s eyebrow raises at that.

“And,” David adds, “I will be personally responsible for reminding you of it and kicking you in the ass if you get cold feet. How’s that for a plan?”

He bites his lip, looking at Quentin’s message again. His mind is going over all the ways this could go wrong again and the certain terrible fallout, but his heart has already made the choice.

“Okay. I’ll tell him to choose the date and the place.”

“Yes!” David cheers from the other side, a huge beaming smile on his lips.

Eliot laughs. “Ok, you need to calm down. It gets kinda creepy when you get so excited about my love life.”

“Oooooh! He’s calling it his _love life_ now. Where I’m from, we call that progress!”

“Shut up or I’ll hang up on you,” he jokingly threatens. “Now, tell me, are you leaning more towards a cat or a dog?”

\---

**17th September 2020**

Quentin finally finds some time to go back to the lake house. It’s been a few days since he left his note and he’s anxious to find out what sort of reply he’ll have waiting for him when he gets there.

He brought Muntjac with him this time around. Quentin is sure she misses the lake, so he takes her with him whenever he has the time to go home before driving out there.

He parks the car and then opens the door for her. The minute her paws touch the ground, she’s off like a rocket, scaring a few birds nearby. He smiles as he watches her make her way towards the water.

“I see another car wash in my near future,” he mutters as he walks down to the mailbox.

There’s a small note inside.

_“Pick a place and I’ll be there. Give me all the details and I promise that I won’t let you down again._

_David also said that he’ll remind me of it in two years and make sure I’m in the right place at the right time for once._

_Either way, here. I’m writing down my cell phone number. If you’re worried I’m running late or something, give me a call.”_

He grins down at the paper, his heart bursting with hope, and grabs his pen.

_“Okay, Eliot. Meet me at the Rookery Building on the 22nd at 2 pm. I hope to see you there this time around.”_

He slips it into the mailbox and returns to his car, a new swing to his steps.

Later, when he reaches the top of the stairs that lead to his apartment door, he sees Julia waiting there for him.

He can’t help but beam at her.

“You’re in a good mood,” she comments as she steps aside to let him unlock the front door.

He tries to hide his excited smile as he curls his hair behind his ear with one hand and slips the key in the lock with the other.

“I went by the lake house.”

Julia grins at him. He opens the door and she follows him inside.

“Of course. That’s why you’re brimming with happiness and shy cuteness. Ugh, I love this side of you. I know I don’t really know Eliot, but I already like him and the way he makes you feel, Q.”

He closes the door and removes his coat and shoes.

“Well,” he starts, walking into the kitchen, with Julia following close behind him. “If all goes according to plan, maybe you’ll meet him soon.”

Her eyebrows rise and her mouth opens. She starts slapping his arm.

“Are you going to meet him?”

Quentin smiles shyly. “I hope so. I hope this is finally it.”

Julia reaches over and squeezes his arm.

“He’ll be there, I’m sure. Whatever happened the first time, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why he couldn’t call you.”

He pauses in front of his open fridge, frowning at the lack of a sufficient amount of ingredients to pull off a balanced meal.

“He gave me his number to call in case he doesn’t show. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Yeah, if you’ll have me. But, oh my god, how can you have his number on you right now and not want to call him right this second?” she asks, not at all succeeding in trying to keep her excitement in.

Quentin shrugs but he smiles at her. “I didn’t say anything about not wanting to call him. It’s a heavy weight to carry, but we’re trying to do this right, okay?”

Julia leans against the counter and watches her best friend close the fridge and read the different menus hanging on the door.

“So? You’ll just call him to remind him that you’re meeting in… when are you meeting him?”

He removes the magnet to get a better look at some of them.

“I suggested the 22nd. Are we feeling Mexican food? Thai? Any specific preferences?”

Julia shrugs. “Honestly, I could go for a deep dish pizza right now.”

He hums and gets his phone out instead. She looks over his shoulder at the calendar on the wall.

“So… that’s next Tuesday. Crap, you’re gonna have to call me. I won’t be able to come down in the middle of the week, Q.”

“Oh, wow. It’s almost like you need to be there or something,” he comments in a deadpan voice.

She leans over and grabs a pen from the counter, throwing it at his back.

“Hey!” he protests.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you picked that day on purpose.”

He scrolls some more on his phone until he finds the number for the pizza place Eliot recommended to him once.

“Okay, I’m ordering us a pizza. Anything else you want?”

Julia shakes her head, already making her way to the living room.

“I hope you know I’ll sit on this couch until you gush all about your guy and how excited you are to meet him.”

He smiles to himself, wishing Eliot could be here to share a slice with him.

\---

**22nd September 2018**

Eliot is walking around the Millennium Park with Margo, listening to her stories about the newest addition to his late father’s architect firm.

He’s laughing and nodding in all the right places, because being around Margo is like second nature to him now.

The truth is that he’s not paying that much attention to the actual story, though. He’s sure his best friend has noticed it, too. She knows him as well as he knows her, and he’ll be forever thankful that they crossed paths at college many years ago and have decided to stick with each other since then.

She continues with her story as they walk past the Bean and Eliot can’t stop the distracted sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Am I boring you, dear?” she asks, voice dripping with mirth.

They stop and watch the tourists posing in all sorts of ways in front of the reflecting sculpture.

“Not at all, Bambi. I guess it was more fun when I was part of the group and we’d talk about these things together.”

She nods and grabs his hand, interlocking their fingers.

“There’s still space for you at the firm, you know that.”

Eliot shakes his head.

“I’m not the same kind of architect I was back then. Besides, I don’t want to be a part of it just because I carry my father’s last name. I’m happy doing my own thing. That doesn’t mean these little things won’t make me miss it sometimes, you know?”

She hugs his arm and pulls herself closer to his side, resting her head on his upper arm.

“So how’s your anxiety today? I know the big day won’t happen for another two years for you, but…”

He smiles down at her, stopping and pulling her in by the waist.

“I’m honestly hoping that future Eliot won’t fuck this up for me, because I really like this one and I think we could make each other happy.”

Her eyes grow big and she nods proudly, reaching up to run her fingers through his curls.

“I like this older and wiser Eliot. I mean, I’m still not sure how I feel about you being so taken to this romance and love thing, but you’re softer and happier. It’s a good look on you, El.”

There may or may not be tears at bay in his eyes, but he squeezes her close and leans down to whisper in her ear.

“I _am_ happier, and I like feeling this way. I hope you get to feel it one day, too.”

Before he pulls away, she reaches up to kiss his cheek. When they stand up straight again, they’re both sporting small blissful smiles.

Margo interlocks their fingers again and they continue on their path through the park.

\---

**22nd September 2020**

Quentin is closing the door behind him and getting ready to walk down the stairs of the apartment building when his cell phone starts ringing.

He pulls it out of his pocket and rolls his eyes at the name on the screen.

“Jules, you scared the crap out of me,” he tells her as soon as he places the phone by his ear.

_“I was calling to check in on you. How are you feeling?”_

“Nervous. Worried.”

_“Hopeful?”_

“Yeah,” he admits, nodding as he locks the door before walking down the stairs. “But mostly scared of another disappointment. Another heartbreak.”

There’s silence on the other side of the line for a few seconds.

_“I obviously don’t know what’s gonna happen any more than you do, but it’s clear this guy cares about you. I read his letters, Q. If this is a case of cold feet, I’m sure he’ll get over it for a chance to finally hang out with you here.”_

He pauses when he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“I wish it were that simple. Cold feet wouldn’t have kept him from calling me. Not when he didn’t need to face me yet, if he didn’t feel ready for it.”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“I just worry, you know? Like you said, there are many reasons for him not to call or show up, and considering all kinds of fucked the world is at the moment…”

_“Yeah,”_ she interrupts, _“let’s maybe not go there right now, ok? Let’s keep it positive, Q. He’ll be there, you guys will have those stupid little besotted grins on your faces, you’ll talk, maybe even hold hands…”_

Quentin laughs.

“Yes, yes, of course. Like in all of those romantic movies. Did I mention this was happening in my actual, real life?”

_“You’ll be fine, Q. It’ll be great. And I’ll want to hear all about it when you’re done. Now go, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”_

He chuckles. “Sure. I’ll talk to you later, Jules.”

Finding a parking spot nearby is tricky, but Quentin manages to be close enough to the building that he makes it there with minutes to spare.

He takes a look at his wristwatch and decides to go for a walk around the building while he waits for Eliot to show up.

Adjusting the elastic bands of his mask over his ears, he steps towards the door and walks into the Rookery.

Quentin looks all around it, seeing it in person for the first time. He can now understand why a young Eliot was so impressed by it.

He knows he won’t have access to many parts of the building, but he knows the treasure is within the court he can see farther down the corridor that connects it to the entrance. He can already see the marble stairs from here. He walks closer to it, eyes trying to take it all in at once.

The hints of gold on the white stone and the light streaming in from the glass ceiling. The curved dark stairs and the openness of the main court.

Quentin walks to the middle of it and looks up. There’s a hint of a childish feeling wanting to make him spin until he becomes dizzy and falls to the ground, still looking up at the sunlight hitting the glass above him.

He smiles to himself, thinking of a smaller version of Eliot pulling on his father’s hand and pointing at things, asking him to tell him more about this and that.

There’s a security officer standing at the bottom of the stairs, next to a sign letting him know that he’s not allowed to go up the stairs. That’s okay. There is still a lot he can see of the building, so he turns and finds other places he can go to and take a look.

He’s so lost in the beauty of the building, its small details, all the gold bits and light hitting its walls and floors that he loses track of time. When he checks his wristwatch again, he sees that it’s been almost an hour since he’s been wandering around the Rookery and looking at its architecture from up close.

For a second he almost wishes he’d brought Eliot’s map letter to go over the Rookery with his descriptions of the place, but… the real Eliot is supposed to be here anyway, so why settle for ink and paper when he can have the real thing showing him around?

He makes his way back to the beginning, keeping an eye on every man who walks into the building, but hitting a wall every single time because he still doesn’t know exactly what the other man looks like.

Instead of going on another round of the building and making it more difficult to be found, he finds a place to sit down and wait.

Another half hour goes by and everyone who walks in seems to be on a mission. No one even looks at Quentin twice.

That combination of insecurity and fear starts to bloom deep in his chest. He tries to distract himself by looking the building up on the internet and reading more about it.

_“Located in the heart of downtown Chicago’s financial district, The Rookery was built to be a prestigious business environment. The building has an unrivaled history in Chicago and has proven, throughout generations, to be a place of bold progress and great success._

_Architects Daniel Burnham and John Root created an architectural masterpiece that is one of the greatest surviving examples of the early commercial skyscrapers, The Rookery. Its stately façade is unmatched in architectural detailing and is complemented by a rich and inviting environment within the building, highlighted by incredible architectural features including the mesmerizing oriel staircase and stunning light court.”_

He looks up from his cell phone screen and nods to himself.

“They did something right with this one, for sure. It’s quite impressive.”

Chancing another look at the time, his anxiety starts swirling inside.

“Come on, Eliot, don’t do this to me again,” he pleads quietly.

He wonders how long he should wait before he tries the phone number Eliot gave him. He decides that the moment the security person starts giving him suspicious looks is probably as good a hint from the universe as it’ll get.

Scrolling through his contacts, he finds Eliot’s name easily. His fingertip hoovers over the call option. With a deep breath, he lets it touch the screen and set things in motion.

His heart is racing and he takes deep breaths to try and center himself. He frowns at the dial tone.

_“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”_

His leg starts to bounce and he’s feeling hot and cold rushing up and down his back.

“What the hell, Eliot?” he mutters as he prepares to try again.

_“We’re sorry. You have reached–”_

He hangs up again and looks down at his cell phone, hands sweating and fingers shaking.

“No, no, no. Eliot…”

He pockets his phone and runs his hand through his hair. He pulls his shoulders back, takes a deep breath and walks calmly outside.

His eyes are glued to the floor most of the way back to his car. He gets inside and closes the door behind him.

He removes his mask and tries to control his now rapid breathing.

“Where the hell are you, Eliot?”

His voice barely echoes around the otherwise empty car.

Looking down at his shaking fingers, Quentin closes them up into fists and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I can’t deal with this, El. Why do you keep doing this to me?”

His voice trembles and dissolves into sobbing. He lets his forehead touch the steering wheel and cries his anxiety out.

Many minutes later, or what feels like a whole lifetime to Quentin, he finally pulls back and wipes his eyes.

When he looks down again, he finds his hands are steady once more. There’s a numb feeling settling over his chest, and Quentin knows it’s dangerous to let it go unchecked. He’s done this before and he doesn’t want to go through it again.

Sliding the keys in the ignition, he vows to call Julia to stop by his apartment after work and help him deal with this.

For now, he straightens up and focuses on driving back home. His feelings can wait.

\---

**6th October 2018**

Eliot knows better than to wait in front of the mailbox for a letter from Quentin. He’d told him many times before that his work keeps him busy.

He won’t lie and say he was expecting something soon after their set up meeting, though.

When days and days pass without a new letter from his future correspondent, he starts to worry. At this point, he can’t even tell if it’s a good or a bad thing.

Did they meet and it went so well that they are out there, talking in real life and hanging out? Did that happen and Quentin forgot to leave him a letter saying that things were okay and he’d just be out there hanging out with the real thing instead of exchanging letters with him anymore?

Or…

Did he fail to show up again? Didn’t David remind him? Did he get the dates mixed up?

Unable to sit on his own anxiety for too long, he calls Margo and they go out for lunch.

“Hey! What’s up with you?” is Margo’s immediate question when she sees the crestfallen look on his face.

He shakes his head and hugs her.

“It’s silly.”

She pulls back and frowns at him.

“It’s not, if it makes you feel this way. Whatever it is, big or small, it’s important to you, so it’s not silly, El.” She pauses to assess him. “Is it lover boy again?”

His shoulders drop on a sigh.

“David calls him a prince.”

Margo snorts.

“Is that what we’re calling him now?”

“I don’t know if we’re ever going to call him anything at this point.”

“Still no news from him?”

Eliot shakes his head.

“Okay, honey. We’re gonna have an amazing meal now and I’ll tell you about my week babysitting the new guy at work.”

He tilts his head and interrupts her.

“Can he still be considered the ‘new guy’ if he’s been there for a few weeks now?”

“El, he’s so green that he’s a fucking cabbage, so, yes, he’s still the new guy. Anyway, we’re gonna do that and then we’ll go back to yours and mope about your love life. How’s that?”

He shrugs.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to ruin our food.”

She pats him on the back.

“That’s the spirit. Now let’s go because I’m hungry.”

As promised, they make it all the way through their lunch without mentioning Quentin again. Eliot is pulled into Margo’s own universe and he delights in it. He laughs as he listens to her obviously exaggerated stories.

He blocks it all out so much and so effortlessly that he’s taken aback when he reaches his house and sees the little red flag telling him he’s got mail.

“I’m gonna guess from the stuttering of your car that that wasn’t there before you left,” Margo comments not unkindly from the passenger seat.

“Sorry,” he says distractedly.

He pulls up in front of the mailbox and stays frozen in his seat.

“So, are you gonna get that or…?”

“Give me a moment.”

She reaches over and squeezes one of the hands he has gripping the steering wheel. Then she lets go and exits the car.

She makes her way down to the house and Eliot can hear her baby talking to Muntjac through the glass door.

He gathers the courage to face whatever the letter has to tell him about the future. He makes it to the mailbox and grabs it, ripping the envelope in his haste.

With a deep breath and gripping the paper tight in his hands, he begins reading.

_“I tried, Eliot. I really did._

_I was there and I waited for a really long time._

_You didn’t show up._

_Listen, I’m going to be completely honest with you, because I feel like I’ve been holding back on you and I can’t anymore. I need you to understand where I’m coming from (as much as you can while staying ignorant to some of the things I’m dealing with)._

_I want you to know I didn’t come to this conclusion easily and that I’m not brushing it all aside for no good reason._

_Things are kinda weird in the world in general right now. Due to my job, I’m having to deal with it up close and personal and it’s draining, Eliot. It’s taking so much out of me that after every long shift at work, every time I come home, it still doesn’t go away. It sticks with you._

_I’m at a point in my life where things aren’t very stable for me. I’m slowly falling apart. I can’t deal with job-related issues, trying to keep my mental sanity in check and, on top of all of that, still have to wonder why you never seem to reach out to me here, in 2020._

_I care about you. That shouldn’t be news to you anymore. You’ve told me you care about me, too. I believe you, Eliot, I do. I read it in every letter of every word you write to me._

_Despite that, I can’t stop the way my thoughts spiral and get scarier and scarier the more I think about why I never seem to grasp you. Not here, not physically, not the way I want to._

_And before you ask, I called the number you gave me, but it’s not working anymore. I haven’t looked you up anywhere either. No social media, no news…_

_I think I was really excited about it at first. I almost went and did it when we first started to exchange notes. Now… I’m scared to even look anymore. You’ll always remain a mystery to me._

_Maybe we should let it be. I don’t know what happened – and you don’t know either – but clearly this is not working for some reason. I guess it’s not meant to be._

_It was nice knowing you._

_-Q”_

“No,” he chokes out, fingers tightening on the paper, crumbling it.

“El?” Margo calls out to him.

He can barely register Muntjac’s whines in the background. When he doesn’t answer, Margo makes her way back up to him and takes the letter out of his hands to read it herself.

“El–” she treads carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.

However, he shakes his head, stopping her from going any further.

“I fucked it up again. I always do. There is this perfectly good thing right in front of me and I either run because I’m scared of how _big_ and _important_ it is, or I ruin it before it has a chance of going anywhere.”

“Hey,” she pushes, tone heavy and severe. “You don’t know what happened, ok? Don’t start cursing yourself out like this.”

Margo places her hand on his arm and pulls him around and out of his frozen bubble.

“Fuck, El, you’re shaking.”

And he is. He can see that when he looks at his hands.

“Margo, for once in my messed up life of highs and lows, _this_ was the one thing I wanted to work out. The one thing I wanted to go right for me.” He motions at the paper she’s still holding. “And as you can see, it didn’t even matter that I was willing to go all in, because, guess what? It still wasn’t enough. In two years, I won’t take that step, because I’m a fucking coward.”

“El.” She shakes him hard. “Listen to me, if this matters so much to the both of you, leave him a message. Fight for it. Don’t just stand there and watch it all go to hell like this.”

She shoves the letter at his chest and he fumbles to grab it, confused.

“I’m getting you a pen and some paper. Where are your keys?”

He frowns but hands them over and watches her unlock the house. Muntjac immediately comes running at him, demanding him to pet her. He crouches down and does exactly that. For all he knows, this will be yet another fuck up on his part somewhere in the future, and he doesn’t need that reminder right now.

He gets lost in petting her, so when he looks up, it’s to see Margo handing him a notebook and a pencil.

“I couldn’t find a pen, but this works just fine.” He straightens up and grabs it from her. “Now put that brain to good use. Get ready to grovel, because this will be a tough one.”

She turns around and whistles at Muntjac.

“Come, girl. Let’s go for a walk and let your owner get his thoughts in order.”

He bites his lip and looks at the blank page.

\---

**6th October 2020**

Part of him wants to leave as soon as the letter goes through. He forces himself to stay, though. He knows Eliot deserves at least the chance to say something before Quentin turns his back on him forever.

He leans against the hood of his car, wrapped up in a warm coat, arms crossed tightly against his chest. He’s doing his very best to hold himself together. There will be another breakdown as soon as he returns home, he knows that. But he needs to be strong now and do what needs to be done, for both their sakes.

But mostly for him. He’s made some progress learning to look after himself and his mental health. He’s not gonna throw it all away now over something he’s not even sure how or why is happening.

Still, when the little flag rises, his breath comes out stuttering and he takes a minute to compose himself before he walks towards it.

He shakes the tension off his shoulders before he opens the lid and reaches inside for the note he knows is waiting for him.

_“Quentin, please, I still have two years to go. Please, let me fix it._

_You were telling me not that long ago about how much you like that book, Orlando, and the story behind it, between its author and her female lover. Didn’t they exchange letters, too? They were happy and in love, weren’t they? They made it work somehow._

_Give me a chance to make our happy ending come true, my prince.”_

It hurts.

Something shatters inside him and his eyes water.

He wants so much for things to go right, but he won’t survive being let down for a third time. At the very least, he’s pretty sure it would change him in irreparable ways.

So he takes a deep, shaky breath, pulls his chest out, wipes his eyes and gets ready to break Eliot’s heart.

Once he’s done writing, he shoves it in the mailbox and runs back to his car.

_‘It’s done,’_ he texts Julia.

_‘Come on over and we’ll drink all of this off,’_ she replies.

With one last watering look at the lake house, he pulls the car in reverse and leaves.

\---

**6th October 2018**

Margo has returned to his side. She hasn’t said a word yet, but she brought him a mug of something warm and definitely laced with something alcoholic. He doesn’t even flinch when he brings it to his lips.

They stand there, waiting for the mailbox to come alive. When it does, they both jump. Eliot shoves the mug at her and immediately goes for the letter. He feels Margo come up to his side to read the page over his arm.

_“El,_

_I know you mean well and I appreciate it, but it’s too little, too late._

_Did you know Virginia Woolf actually killed herself? That doesn’t sound too happy an ending to me._

_Either way, life isn’t a book. It’s not a movie. It’s reality. Things don’t go to plan most of the time and we learn to accept it and move on from it, because you never know what tomorrow’s got in store for you. You may not even make it that far._

_Like that guy who died in February. Remember? He’s the reason I made it back to the lake house in the first place and saw your response to my letter._

_He died in my arms, Eliot, even though I tried everything to save him. I watched him fade away and thought about the people in his life who loved him. He could have a family or friends waiting for him to come home that day, and they were somewhere else in that city, at that very moment, going about their lives and not knowing they would never see him again._

_I was so shook up with everything that happened that day that even my superior noticed. She advised me to make the most of my next break off work to be with myself for a bit. My immediate thought was to come here as soon as I could._

_As I drove here some days later, I couldn’t stop thinking that this may be it. There may not be someone there waiting for you at the end of the day. What if you’re all alone in the end?_

_Getting here, I was hoping that I would get some sort of answer, and that I’d make peace with all of those abstract worries over things I can’t change._

_Then I stumbled upon you. Kind of. You were a breath of fresh air in my life and I’m gonna be forever grateful for your brief presence in it._

_I let myself get lost in this crazy, unexplainable thing, which felt a lot like this brightly colored corner in my otherwise grey life, a place where time stood still. It became a huge part of my life in such a short amount of time, it’s almost scary. It’s lovely and it’s warm, and I want to stay here forever, enveloped in it._

_But it’s not real, Eliot. It’s a false sense of security. We built something here that we don’t even know if it can last outside of this greenhouse made of ink and paper._

_I need to face what’s out there and fight my own demons. I can’t keep running back here to escape reality. I can’t sit here and write to you, pretending we’re in this bubble where nothing and no one ever touches us and that we’re safe from what’s out there._

_We’re not._

_You may not be._

_Trust me, I want to believe we could make this work, but so far, everything’s been pointing to the contrary. I’d rather not reach the point of no return before it’s too late and I see that what we had was all fiction._

_I’d told you before about how I’m feeling disconnected from my own reality. I realized that I need to let go of the lake house and I need to let go of you in order to move on and be truly happy where I’m standing._

_I’m sorry, Eliot. I wish I could have been your prince. Deep down, you’ll always be mine. It just won’t be in this lifetime. I wish you a very happy and full life._

_Please don’t leave me any more letters. I won’t come back to pick them up._

_Love,_

_Quentin.”_

Eliot feels his chest moving too fast and Margo’s hold on his arm constricting.

“I-I… I’ll send him another note,” he starts, frantically opening the notebook on a random blank page. “I can ask him for some time. I’ll… I’ll find out what went wrong, I will. I just… I have to try harder, because there has to be a reason…”

He’s speaking a mile a second, but the pencil never touches the page in front of him because he can’t seem to find the words to stop the train wreck from happening. Not when Quentin has closed the book on them. Not when he said he won’t be coming back for any more letters from Eliot.

Margo grabs the pencil and the notebook from his hands and he lets go willingly, way too easily.

He hears them drop to the ground.

“Eliot.”

He can’t look at her. Doing that will be admitting that this is done, over with. He’s not ready to let go of this, not yet. His heart is hammering against his chest, but the beating isn’t steady. It’s a broken machine giving its last efforts to keep the show going.

A warm, soft hand pulls his head down and forces his eyes to meet Margo’s. His vision starts watering. His head feels heavy.

“Bambi,” his voice trembles.

He watches her lips quiver and she nods, keeping her own tears at bay.

“I’m so sorry, honey, but I think you need to let it breathe. _You_ need to breathe. Hell, Eliot.” Her voice sounds small, worried and scared. Her fingers close around his wrists and she pulls him delicately away from the mailbox.

He’s still gripping the letter.

“Let’s get you inside, okay? You look like you’re going into shock or something and we need to fix you, fix this. You can’t pass out on me right now. You need to be alright.”

But how can he, when he’s living with loss upon loss? First he lost his father, now Quentin is leaving him behind, and soon enough so will Muntjac. The scales are tipping fast and it’s getting harder and harder to find the silver lining.

He doesn’t say any of it out loud, but Margo’s eyes turn softer in the corners when she looks at him again as they enter the house and she locks the door behind them, so he thinks she understands it on a deeper level.

“Let me take care of you, El. This will hurt for a long time, but we’ll turn it around, I promise.”

And so Eliot lets her. He trusts her to make it better, to pick up the pieces he can’t even look at right now.

She takes him into his bedroom, leading them to the comfortable and inviting bed, and lets him curl up his long body into her smaller one. She rubs his back and presses pacifying kisses on his forehead. He lets himself sob in her arms, enveloped by a safe and loving cocoon, until sleep takes over.


	6. We never knew we were losing light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to move on, in their own ways. Some third parties intervene to bring these two boys together, somehow. Quentin fights hard against time and hopes Eliot will be there to help him from the other side.  
> Happy ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Losing Light" by Little Hours.  
> TW: A major character death is mentioned, but keep in mind that things change a lot because of the different timelines. Still, you will see people grieve said character, so things may get sad and intense for a little while there.

**13th November 2020**

“Have you finished another one of dad’s classics?” Quentin asks his mother, pointing at the book peeking out of her bag.

She finishes drinking her water before she looks at the bag sitting on the chair next to her.

Since what happened in February, and also now that the weather has gotten colder again, they’ve changed their usual lunchtime spot. His mother suggested a small café kind of place that serves some quick and healthy meals.

Quentin watches as she grabs the book to show him the cover. It’s George Orwell’s _1984_.

“I see you’ve moved on to Orwell’s works.”

His mother shrugs. “It appealed to me. I never really planned on reading them all by author or anything.”

“But you do want to make your way through all of them eventually.”

She purses her lips.

“Well, it is an extensive collection. But every once in a while I’ll pick one up and try to read it from your father’s perspective.” She pauses and fiddles with the napkin by her plate. “Which, admittedly, is getting harder and harder to do. It’s slowly escaping me.”

She looks up at him and gives him a sad smile.

“Memories are probably the things we want to hold onto the hardest, you know? Material things will only have a deeper meaning if associated with particular memories of moments or people, otherwise they’ll be easily replaced by a newer, better version. But time isn’t too kind on memories. As time goes by, they start to fray, you know? They become fuzzier and you can’t grasp the details anymore.”

She lets go of the napkin and grabs his hand across the table instead.

“It helps that we made plenty together. It means it’ll be harder to completely forget him.”

Something grips Quentin then. How long until he forgets the little he’s got on Eliot? They’re all just letters, aren’t they?

He looks down remembering the map of Chicago that’s saved in a box along with the letters and how, like his mother said, it holds a different meaning because of all the memories Eliot attached to each of the places he marked on it. He thinks of Muntjac’s collar and how she’s never going to be just Quentin’s dog.

He thinks of his lost book. Should he check the mailbox to see if Eliot has returned it? Should he leave him a note asking him for it?

He shakes his head to himself. No, that would just open up the lines of communication again and that’s so counterproductive right now… Quentin lived two years without his father’s book. What’s a few more?

“Are you alright, honey?” his mother asks, her fingers closing around his and giving him a little squeeze. “With everything that’s been going on this year, I worry that you’re wearing yourself thin.”

He offers her a subtle smile.

“I will be,” he says simply, not wanting to open that can of worms right now.

His mother frowns at him, but before she can say anything, someone calls his name from behind him.

He turns and finds Alice, smiling tentatively at him.

“Hey,” he says, genuinely surprised to see her.

“Hello, Alice. Long time no see,” his mother interjects when she senses that her son’s system is still processing some kind of complicated information.

Alice smiles shyly back.

“Yeah. You’ll probably see more of me now. The company has moved its main office to Chicago, so I’m sort of getting to know the neighborhood I’ll also be moving into.”

At Laura’s subtle nudge under the table, Quentin’s brain seems to unlock.

“Oh,” he says oh so intelligently. “Where are you staying, then?”

Alice pushes her blond hair behind her ear.

“I’m staying at a hotel for now. You know, the one I was staying at a few months ago.”

He clears his throat at the memory.

“I haven’t been here for long,” she adds quickly. “I got here on Sunday night.”

“Oh,” he repeats. “I thought you’d call me the next time you were here.”

Now Alice looks away, biting her lip for a second.

“I was under the impression that maybe that was said just out of general politeness.”

Quentin blushes and doesn’t meet his mother’s eyes. Laura gathers her things and gets up.

“Well, I need to get going. Lunch is on me today, honey. Meet you here again next week?”

She gets up, smiles at them both and then walks away towards the cash register.

“You can sit down, if you’d like,” Quentin says, gesturing at the now vacated spot.

Alice shakes her head.

“No, it’s okay. I was just going to get a coffee. I had lunch already.”

“Well, you can get your coffee seated, can’t you? Come on, sit down and we’ll chat for a little bit. I still have some time left before I have to go back.”

She smiles and sits down. A waitress approaches the table and she asks her for a coffee.

“So what do you think of the city so far?” Quentin asks, trying to make some small talk.

“Living here is certainly different from just stopping by for a day or two on work,” she admits, looking at her hands in her lap.

He recognizes the old Alice in that shy and adorable gesture. He feels almost nostalgic for what they had and what could have been. Maybe he hadn’t given it a proper chance before.

Deciding what he really needs is to move forward from the mess that is his love life and stop looking over his shoulder, Quentin makes a split decision.

He leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table.

“Hey, what if we go for a walk around the city the next time I’m free? I could show you around. I’ve been here long enough and I was told about some nice places to hang out.”

She smiles kindly at him.

And so it begins…

\---

**31st December 2018 – 1st January 2019**

Eliot has been coping. Somewhat.

Margo is under the impression that, although he’s still sad and heartbroken about what’s happened with Quentin, he’s been focusing on work and hanging out with her otherwise, in order to fill in that Quentin-shaped void.

Well, that part is mostly true. His life _has_ been reduced to home–work–Margo lately.

David has been trying to bring up the subject, as he was supposed to be the person who keeps Eliot in check in the future and makes sure he shows up. Despite his brother’s many attempts, Eliot’s been very successful in steering the conversation away from it every time it comes up, but he knows that won’t last forever.

Now, in spite of all that, what Margo doesn’t know is that Eliot has still been writing letters to Quentin.

Look, Eliot will be the first to admit that he has a terrible time letting go of things. He may not always talk about them, but they’re there, taking over his sanity until he finds a way to fix it or it resolves itself in ways Eliot can never undo.

In this particular case, Quentin didn’t give him another chance to try to make it right. He understands where he’s coming from, because he’s not a cold asshole, and he gets that Quentin needs time and space, but the idea of never talking to him again is something that turns Eliot’s stomach into knots.

It’s not that he’s in denial. Not for the most part, at least. He didn’t forget the part where Quentin wrote in his last letter that he wouldn’t be coming back anymore, so it was of no use to him to keep sending Quentin any more letters.

Nevertheless, the irrational part of him wants to make sure that, if he ever does come back to the lake house for some reason, he won’t find the mailbox empty. Eliot wants to make it clear to the other man that he hasn’t given up on him without a fight, because he still cares.

Sure, Eliot won’t get out there right now, in 2018, and try to seduce this year’s Quentin away from Alice’s arms or something, but he’s still holding out hope that, if 2020 Quentin’s feelings for him are true, then they can still make it. He’ll give Quentin the time he needs, but he certainly won’t just throw in the towel on one of the best things that could have ever happened to him.

So, of course, his brother decides to show up the moment he’s slipping his latest letter to Quentin in the mailbox.

“Hey, sending your prince another letter?” he asks, getting out of his truck.

“Hey,” Eliot replies. “Still meddling in other people’s lives?”

David shrugs as he makes his way towards his brother.

“You never told me how things went in your future meeting. I was supposed to help and I don’t even know if it went well.”

Eliot looks away, but still feels David’s gaze.

“What happened, El?”

He shakes his head and lets out a long sigh.

“I didn’t show up again. He called the whole thing off and said he’s not gonna be sending any more letters nor picking up any of mine either.”

David frowns and throws the mailbox a look before his expression morphs into sad understanding.

“El,” his brother starts, reaching forward to offer him some comfort. Eliot allows it.

“I can’t stand here and cross my arms, and just accept it. Maybe it’s selfish to keep pushing when he’s told me to back down, but I’m being punished for something that I haven’t done yet. Not _me_ me, at least. It just feels unfair.”

David squeezes his shoulder.

“Ok, listen, I’m gonna say something you won’t want to hear.”

“Then maybe that should be enough of a hint for you not to say it,” Eliot interrupts.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not something you _need_ to hear, so I’m gonna throw it out there, just in case. Maybe it’s a good thing, El. I know you were into this guy, and he seemed to be into you as well, but things haven’t been working that well for you guys, have they? Maybe this was one last nudge from the universe, telling you to live out your present and not worry about a potential love interest that’s 2 years ahead of you in this timeline or whatever.”

Eliot resists it for as long as he can, but hearing his worst thoughts being voiced out loud like that finally breaks his resolve. His shoulders sag, but he remains silent.

“You’re going to Margo’s party, right?”

He nods in response.

“Then let loose, okay? You won’t be over it in a day or even a month, but you can meet other people, at least. Keep your options open.”

Eliot purses his lips and nods after a moment or two.

“No pressure, okay? Only some encouragement down a different path. Sadly, not all fairytales become reality.”

David pats him on the arm and leaves him to it.

Later, at Margo’s party, he lets himself go and not be imprisoned by his own thoughts. He mingles and dances with a bunch of different people all night, always with a glass by his side.

When everyone gets ready for the countdown, however, he finds Margo and the two of them stay close.

The ball drops and they start the New Year with a soft peck of lips.

“We’ll make 2019 our bitch,” Margo promises.

He throws his arms around her and spins them, eliciting a surprised giggle from her. He spends the rest of the night dancing and laughing around with her, but he feels warm and happy.

Eliot doesn’t think about any darkness or emptiness left inside him, and that lasts him for weeks. It gives him hope that maybe Margo was right about this being their year.

Later that month, they make plans to finally start a firm of their own and another weight lifts off his chest.

\---

**January 2021**

Entering a new year is an experience for Quentin, to say the least. The previous year was tough in many different ways (both at work and in his personal life), so he’s hoping this one will be kinder on him.

He has three days off from work, so he’ll be staying at Julia’s for the first of those, then he’ll take one afternoon to hang out with Alice, and the last one is reserved for his couch and Muntjac.

Things with Alice have been going well. She’s not putting too much pressure on him and they’re taking their time with it, getting used to each other again, now that they’re more aware of the other’s boundaries (mostly Alice being more careful with Quentin’s limits). Quentin is also putting in a real effort to listen to her and do things that also make her happy.

He hasn’t told Julia, though, and he feels like he’s ready to get that out of the way. She is his best friend, and he knows she only wants what’s best for him, but deep down he also knows that there’s a chance she won’t necessarily approve of this relationship, so he’s been putting off telling her.

After feeding Muntjac and locking up everything at the house, he pulls on Muntjac’s leash and leads them towards the car. When he arrives at Julia’s, he mentally prepares himself for what he’s sure is going to be a somewhat awkward conversation.

She opens the door with a beaming smile.

“Q, Happy New Year! It’s been a while since I last saw you!” she hugs him and then crouches down to be at Muntjac’s level, so she can pet her. “And you, too, my dear!”

“Come on in,” she says after she straightens up.

They follow her inside and Quentin forgets all about the conversation he knows will come later.

It’s only when they’re almost done with dinner that Quentin decides to finally bring it up.

“Hey,” he starts, suddenly nervous.

“Hey,” Julia replies, amused. “What’s up?”

Quentin watches her move the last of her food around her plate.

“I’ve been seeing Alice for a couple of months now,” he blurts out.

She takes her time chewing, letting it sink in. When she’s done, she carefully puts her cutlery down and wipes her mouth with the napkin.

“Does she make you happy?” is the question she decides upon in the end.

“Yeah, I mean, things have been going well between us. We’ve been doing things at a regular pace, I guess. Or at least at a pace that pleases the both of us.”

She nods and takes a sip of her glass of water.

“However,” he continues, “I’m thinking of asking her to move in with me.”

Julia frowns at him and puts her glass down.

“Q…”

She doesn’t elaborate, but he knows what she’s trying to say just by looking at her face.

“She’s not pressuring me or anything. I just think… We know each other already. We’ve been together before, so it’s not like we’re skipping any steps here. It feels like the right time now. We’re actually on the same page for once.”

“Is this about Eliot?” she asks quietly, as if afraid to even touch that subject.

Quentin sighs. He should have seen this coming.

“Jules, nothing’s been about Eliot in quite a few months now. We haven’t been talking and it was me who decided to pull the plunge, so… I’m moving on with my life. Aren’t you happy for me?”

She looks at him in silence for a few moments before looking down again, fidgeting with her napkin.

“I’ll be happy for you if you’re happy. That’s all that matters to me, Q. I just worry that you’re doing this for the wrong reasons. I don’t want you to push yourself into this because it feels like the right time, not according to your feelings, but because you’ve been dating a while and that’s what people would expect you to do.” She reaches out to place her hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze. “Especially when you’re still dealing with whatever happened with Eliot. You had feelings for the guy, Q.”

He pulls his hand from under hers, grabbing his empty plate and glass and moving them to the sink.

“It doesn’t matter, Jules. It was never gonna go anywhere. We’ve tried and it didn’t work.”

He senses her approaching, bringing her own dish and glass to the sink.

“We still don’t know what happened.”

He turns to face her, suddenly heated.

“Jules, were this any other person who happened to be living in the same year as us, if I told you we tried and it didn’t work, you’d let it go. Why can’t you let this one go?”

Her facial expressions soften.

“I liked how happy you looked when you’d get one of his letters. Hell, I even read some of the stuff you guys wrote to each other. You guys were growing soft. It was all so cute and _good_ , I don’t know. I guess it felt like something bigger, like something you’d fight harder for.”

“Julia…”

He leans back against the counter and rubs at his face.

“Let me let it go, okay? It was hard enough as it was. I can’t go back to that. I wouldn’t just be fighting for a relationship I don’t even know Eliot would still want in 2 years’ time. I would be fighting time itself. It’s too much.”

Her expression changes again, this time to something Quentin can’t quite put a finger on.

“Q, there’s something I–”

His phone goes off in his pocket. It’s a message from Alice. When he opens it, he sees that it’s a picture of her standing in front of a dining table filled with food. The caption reads _“Came back from the parents’ house with all of these leftovers. Do they think I have four children to feed or what?”_

Quentin chuckles before putting it away again. When he looks back at Julia, she’s looking at the way her socked feet are rubbing against the small rug on the kitchen floor.

“Oh, sorry. What were you saying?”

Julia sends him a forced smile and he frowns, but before he can say anything else, she grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the living room.

“I checked Netflix earlier and they released some cheesy new movies. I hope you’re okay with that being the only plans we have for this afternoon. That and some cuddling on the couch with some hot drinks.”

He watches her carefully, but she never again breaks the chirpy mood she’s settled into. Eventually he lets go and forgets all about it.

\---

**14 th February 2021**

The doorbell rings and Quentin shakes off the nerves before opening it with a beaming smile.

On the other side stands Alice, in a beautiful black dress that came up shy of her knees. She wasn’t wearing her glasses tonight, but her make up brought out the beautiful color of her eyes even more.

Quentin is frozen, taking her in. She bites her lip and looks down shyly. They’ve been getting along so well in the past few months that he wonders if the problems they had in their previous try at this relationship boiled down to it not being their right moment yet.

Actually, he feels great around her now. At times, he feels like a blushing teenager who just wants to reach over and grab her hand in his and walk down the street with a beaming smile on his face.

“I brought wine. I hope that’s okay,” she breaks the silence, waving the bottle in her hand.

He breaks out from his thoughts and grins at her, stepping back to let her in.

“Yes, of course. I’d say your taste in wine is probably better than mine, anyway.”

She laughs and curls her hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her so badly then. She seems to read his thoughts, because she steps into his personal space and brings her lips to his in a sweet kiss.

His hands fall to her hips and pull her body closer to his, wanting this moment to last a bit longer. She allows it.

When they break apart, he takes the bottle of wine from her and walks into the kitchen. He hears her close the door behind her before following him.

“Okay, so, I tried my best to make a different, special meal, but I’m no chef, so please don’t get your hopes up.” He looks back at her sheepishly. “We can still try our luck with the restaurants nearby.”

“On Valentine’s Day? I don’t think we’d be that lucky. Besides, I’d rather have your home cooked meal and then curl up on the couch with some wine than go to a restaurant filled with noisy couples. This is way more intimate.”

They both smile at each other. Quentin leads her to the table, pulling her chair back and waiting for her to sit. Then he goes back into the kitchen to grab the food. He serves the wine soon after.

Both the food and the conversation are as pleasant as he’d hoped they’d be. He feels all giddy once they move to the couch with their wine glasses, as promised.

“Hey, so,” he starts, twirling the liquid inside his glass, unable to look at Alice in the eye. “I was thinking… You know, with you living in the city now, and us dating again… We’re in a good place, right?”

Alice is sitting on her heels, having long removed her shoes before they even made it to the couch. She nods at him with a loving smile.

“We are,” she agrees, reaching over to lace their fingers together.

“And we’ve known each other for a while now. I was thinking that, maybe, if you want, of course, you could… you know, come live here with me?” he finishes with an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

Alice’s eyebrows rise and Quentin isn’t quite sure how to interpret that. She puts her glass down on the coffee table and he worries.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be right away, if you think we–”

She kisses him and he’s focusing very hard on not pouring his wine all over the carpet.

“Yes, of course,” she says when she pulls back. Her beaming smile is now pretty easy to read. Quentin can’t help but smile back.

“I have some things I need to take care of at work this week, so I’ll be a bit busy, but maybe over the weekend we can start the moving process? Can you help me then?”

“Yeah,” he says, still somewhat dumbfounded and clinging to his wine glass. “I mean, I’m working on Saturday, but if you can get things ready then, I’ll help move them on Sunday. Does that work for you?”

“It does,” she replies happily.

Later, Quentin offers her to stay the night, but she politely declines, saying she needs to go into work early the next day, so he walks with her downstairs and outside the building.

It’s a chilly night, so they both pull their coats closer to their bodies as soon as they’re outside the main doors of the apartment complex.

They walk a bit further on the sidewalk, but Alice stops them a few steps later.

“It’s really cold outside and there’s no need for you to walk me to my car, I promise.”

She places her hand on his chest and leans up on her toes to kiss him. His arms curl around her body, pulling her closer to share some more body heat. They kiss for a long moment, but eventually break apart with a warm chuckle.

“Good night, Quentin. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

“Night, Alice,” he replies and watches her leave.

She waves before getting in her car. Quentin walks backwards, eyes never leaving her.

Just as her car pulls away from the parking spot, Quentin’s back bumps against something. He turns, startled, and realizes he walked back into a tree.

_The_ tree.

A heavy feeling settles deep into his stomach, but he doesn’t let it sour his mood. He smiles sadly at the _Q_ carved in it, letting his fingers tracing it once again, months after the last time he did it.

Giving its bark one last pat, he walks back into his building, turning on a new page in his life and happy about it, for once.

\---

**March 2019**

Eliot frowns when he hears a car pull up to the lake house. He becomes even more confused when he sees Margo walk down the path to the house.

He opens the door for her. She storms right in, ignoring the way Muntjac is begging for her attention. That’s not a good sign.

“Did you call? I don’t remember hearing my phone–”

“Why did I have to hear from David that you’re still writing letters and sending them to your future boy?” she interrupts, cutting right to the chase.

Eliot shakes his head.

“David was always so damn loose-lipped.”

“El!” she snaps, hitting him on the arm. He feels Muntjac sniff at his leg.

“I knew how you’d react, okay? It’s selfish, I know, but I can’t just stop writing to him.”

“Why the hell not?” she asks, waving her arms around, clearly worked up over all of this on his behalf. “He made it very clear he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

He feels the cut deep inside him. It hurts even more to know that she’s right and he’s just choosing to ignore it.

“Harsh,” he whispers, looking at his feet.

“Well, kind doesn’t seem to do it with you, so if I have to be a mean bitch to get it through your thick skull, I will. I worry about you, El. This isn’t healthy.”

He sighs and his shoulders drop.

“I know.”

She stops her angry pacing to stand in front of him, her small hands holding onto his wide shoulders.

“Have you thought about moving someplace else? I mean, you’re out here alone and you keep sending that guy letters, even though you know very well you shouldn’t, for many different reasons. At least if you were away from this place, you wouldn’t feel as tempted.”

Muntjac places her front paws on his leg to be able to reach his hand with her snout. His hand absently moves to pet her head.

“Yeah. I’ve given it some thought, actually. I also know that Quentin will move here at some point, or else I never would have gotten that first letter to begin with. So maybe I should leave it behind so he can have it.”

“I think this will be good for you, not only because it’ll keep you from hurting yourself like this because of him, but also to give you a breather from this place. I know this house means a lot to you and you want to turn it all around and make it better, but I think you need a break for now. You can face it all again in a few months, if you want, once your head is clearer. In the meantime, you can stay with me.”

He smiles kindly at her, pulling her in for a warm hug.

“Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll get my own little place for now. I need to be with myself for a bit longer.”

“But you’ll stay within reach, right?” she asks. Eliot can still read the worry in her tone.

“I’ll even take the next door apartment, if it makes you sleep better at night.”

She pulls away with a laugh.

“Sadly, it isn’t available. That nasty excuse of a woman and her noisy kids still live there. But we’ll find something nearby, okay?”

Eliot nods. He watches her lean down to finally pet Muntjac.

“So,” she starts once she straightens back up. “Wanna go out for lunch and put all of this behind us?”

He smiles and accepts.

A few days later, he’s packing his boxes, putting them in the back of David’s truck. He was kind enough to stop by and offer his help, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Eliot knows he feels somewhat bad that he had to go behind Eliot’s back to get him the help he wasn’t aware he needed.

Margo is at his new place, already unpacking the first boxes they dropped off, to make the move as easy and fast as possible. She really wants to see him out and far away from this place.

Eliot has just placed the heavy box he was carrying on David’s truck when Muntjac sets off running.

“Hey!” he calls after her, but she doesn’t even hesitate.

“Jac!” he tries again, already making after her. “Hey! Come back here!”

He follows her into the forest, constantly calling her name. She’s running as if she has a destination in mind, but Eliot has no idea what it could be.

A few turns later, he completely loses her tracks. He starts walking in circles, frantically calling her name. Fear spikes inside him, before it curls and mixes up with reluctant acceptance.

“Jac!” he tries one last time, hopelessly.

When nothing changes and no noises can be heard from anywhere near him, he swallows past the lump in his throat.

Resigned, his shoulders drop and he lets himself mourn the loss of the last good thing connecting him to Quentin.

When he reaches the house again, David is standing by the truck.

“El?”

He waves him off, already starting to feel numb. He knew this was going to happen. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“It’s okay. Let’s just finish this up so we can start unboxing things at the new place.”

His brother hesitates.

“Are you sure? We could take a break.”

Eliot throws him a small smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

He’s told himself that lie so many times, it’s starting to feel like the truth.

\---

**April 2019**

Eliot has been staying at his new place for two weeks now. He’s decided to return to the lake house one last time, to clean the place and get things ready for Quentin to move in when he wants to.

His plan is simple: go in, clean it all up, lock the doors and then take the keys to Alice. He knows she’s got a small office in the city. He drove past it a few times when going to work and saw her there, so he’s certain that’s the right place to find her.

A few hours later, the house is as clean as he can manage. He reaches the wooden console by the front door and sees the box of letters he brought with him.

With a sad sigh, he picks it up and makes his way to the attic.

Margo is right. The best way to keep himself from doing anything stupid is to put all distractions and temptations as far away from him as possible. What better way to do that than to keep it forgotten in the attic of his family home?

The attic is as dusty as he left it when he moved out. He never really used it and he doubts Quentin will stay long enough to even consider putting anything up there.

Before he lets it go, he removes a single closed envelope from inside it. Then, he finds a nice little corner and shoves the small box in there. He takes one last look around the attic and then comes back down, exiting the house and locking the front door on his way out.

Eliot drops the final letter in the mailbox, holding onto it until the very last second, then he closes the lid and goes back to his car.

He finds a parking spot near Alice’s workplace. He’s making his way to the sidewalk when she spots him from the window of her office, so he gestures at her to come outside. She frowns, but gets up to meet him at the front door.

“What do you want?” she bites as a way of greeting.

He lifts his hand in a placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I just came here to tell you that the lake house is for rent.”

He hands the keys over to her. She takes them, but frowns at him again.

“Why do I care?”

“Because Quentin will love it. See you around, Alice!”

He leaves before she can reply.

She stands there, looking at the keys in her hand in confusion.

She calls Quentin and he agrees to meet her later that week. When they do, she hands him the keys, saying her contact at the lake had stopped by earlier to hand him those, confident that Quentin would love it.

At first, Quentin seems skeptical, but once they drive down there, she sees the way his eyes light up when faced with the house.

As they get to know the corners of it, a familiar looking dog shows up. It won’t leave Quentin alone, which seems to amuse the man to no end.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s trying to get you to adopt it,” she tells him at some point.

He leans down to pet it and lets out a joyful laughter.

“I’d say she’s definitely doing something right. If I do move in, I’ll consider keeping her. Assuming she doesn’t have an owner already.”

Alice shrugs. “She doesn’t have any collar.”

“We’ll take her to the vet to look for a chip.”

She stands there and watches them bond as Quentin becomes more and more enamored with the house.

She’s not surprised to learn both Quentin and the dog moved in soon after.

\---

**20 th July 2021**

After some nagging from both Alice and Julia, Quentin agrees to throw a small house party for his birthday.

Maybe “party” is a strong word for what they all agree on doing. Both women know he’s not really into parties, so it all boils down to a nice day spent with his mother and her wife, Julia and her recent boyfriend, and Alice. Oh, and Muntjac, of course, who keeps begging for scraps.

They start with lunch, which his mom and stepmom so kindly prepared, then they move to afternoon drinks and pleasant conversation, and then finish it up with dinner.

When they’re all done with dessert, everyone hands Quentin his presents, even though he told them he didn’t need anything. Getting to spend a special day with the most important people in his life is enough guarantee of a good day spent. Material things don’t hold a candle to it.

He excuses himself from the living room to go to the bathroom. When he leaves it, he stops by the bedroom to look at the small amount of presents on his bed. He smiles down at them. Maybe material things don’t really matter, but the fact that these people looked at these things and thought of him means something.

“Hey, Q,” he hears Julia come into the bedroom behind him.

He turns around with a smile, but it changes into a frown when she stumbles on a loose floorboard. He immediately runs to grab her arms before she can fall on her face.

“Whoa, are you okay?” he asks, helping her straighten herself.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s up with that?”

He frowns at the floor.

“I’ve been living here for a while now and that has never happened before. Strange.”

“Maybe you should check it,” she says quite assertively.

Quentin frowns at her.

“What? What’s there to check? It probably went back to its place as soon as you lifted your foot.”

She shrugs, trying to go for nonchalance, but something doesn’t quite add up.

“I think you should still check it. Anyway,” she changes the topic suddenly. “Logan and I are leaving. Happy birthday, Q. Hope there are many happier ones to come.”

She hugs him and kisses him on the cheek before returning to the living room. He follows her and shakes Logan’s hand before they leave.

Soon after, everyone else leaves, too, leaving just Alice and him behind.

Alice gets up from the couch, drinking the last of her wine.

“Let’s clean this up tomorrow, okay? I need a shower.”

Quentin drops his own glass in the sink, turning on the water so he won’t have dirty and dry dishes to clean up the next day.

He turns the lights on in the living room and walks back to the bedroom with a yawn. His foot falls directly on the loose board, just like Jules’s had earlier that night.

He crouches down and lifts the carpet. When he goes to put the wooden board back in its place, he sees something inside it.

“What the…”

Quentin reaches for it, wiping the dust that’s accumulated all around it. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in a lot of plastic. His mind runs wild with it. Could someone have hidden drugs in his apartment?

He gets up to sit on the end of his bed. The sound of the shower is still going in the background.

The only way to find out what’s hidden under all of that plastic is to remove it. He starts pulling on the elastic bands holding it together, removing layer upon layer of plastic.

When there’s only one more layer left, he starts to see shadows of what’s underneath. It’s a very familiar sight and Quentin rushes to remove the last piece of plastic.

His heart hammers in his chest when he’s face to face with his copy of _Orlando_.

“H-how?”

His fingers keep running over the cover, trembling slightly. His heartbeat is fast but steady. Opening the front cover, he sees his father’s handwriting on the first page.

_“To my dear son, Quentin_

_I hope you like this story and allow it to inspire you to become more open minded. It’s the only way you will let yourself (and others) be truly happy._

_Forever rooting for your success._

_Much love,_

_Dad”_

He feels a tear running down his face, but he’s not quick enough to stop it, so it falls on the open page, right next to his father’s signature. He wipes it, letting out a confused laugh.

There’s a sticky tab in one of the pages. Curiosity gets the best of him. There’s also a small note between the two pages when he opens the book. He reads the signaled quote first.

_“For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.”_

Biting his lip and letting his fingertips touch the small note with its familiar script, he reads it.

_“I just wanted to say that I meant every single word on those letters, but you've made your choice and I'm respecting it, so I'm letting you go._

_Your prince”_

This is it. This is what he wanted, right? Now that they’ve both let each other go, he can finally find his happiness elsewhere. So why are there tears running down his face and it feels like he can barely breathe?

When the shower turns off, Quentin wipes at his face and picks up all the plastic and rubber bands to throw them away. Then he returns to the bedroom, puts the wooden board in place, followed by the warm carpet.

He sits down on his side of the bed, looking down at one of his most cherished possessions that he thought long lost.

“Hey, what have you got there?” Alice asks when she returns, wrapped in a towel, to find him looking at his book.

“Found something I thought I lost,” he replies, looking at her with a tender smile.

She drops a kiss to the top of his head as she walks past him to get her pajamas.

“That’s a great birthday present, then.”

He looks back at the worn cover, overwhelmed by a bittersweet feeling.

“A great present indeed.”

\---

**28 th November 2019**

“Amanda, as usual, dinner was amazing. Thank you so much for this,” Eliot compliments sincerely.

“Hey, I helped, too! Where’s my thanks?” David adds in an exaggerated offended tone.

“David, picking which turkey to buy is not really helping,” he explains and then he turns to his sister-in-law. “Did he help in any other way while you were cooking all this?” he asks, pointing at all the plates on the table.

She chuckles and gets up, starting to lift the empty plates.

“Now, boys, don’t start.”

Emma and Noah soon follow their mother, picking up their own plates and taking them to the kitchen.

“Hey.” David touches Eliot on the arm before nodding in the backyard’s direction. “Smoke break? I wanna talk to you about something.”

Eliot frowns, but nods.

“Honey,” David calls out to Amanda. “We’re going outside for a bit. We’ll be right back.”

The two brothers exit through the door that leads to the back of the house. David pulls up two lawn chairs while Eliot lights up a cigarette.

“So how is the firm doing?” David asks, sitting down beside his younger brother.

“It’s doing really well for a new place trying to find its feet,” he replies with a smile. “It helps that I’m working with my best friend. Work is never boring, I’ll tell you that.”

His older brother smiles proudly at him.

“Been getting a lot of projects to work on lately?”

“A few, yeah. We’re finishing up some before the end of the year, but most are plans for next year.” He stops to take another drag of his cigarette and squint at his brother. “Why do you ask?”

David lets out a sigh and rubs at his face. That’s never a good sign in Eliot’s book.

“What?” he insists.

“El, I know you’ve been working on the lake house on the side,” his brother starts, his tone unsure.

Eliot blinks owlishly at him.

“Wait, did Margo put you up to this?”

“Well, she mentioned it to me, but the worry is coming from me and me only. I can’t speak for her, though I’m sure she’s equally concerned.”

Eliot takes a last longing drag and then reaches forward to put his cigarette out.

“I don’t see what’s there to be concerned about.”

“El,” David tries again, tone firmer. “Honest truth? You’re starting to act like dad and that’s scaring the crap out of me.”

“This is different,” Eliot says in a low emotionless voice. Then he gets up and takes a few steps away from the chairs. His brother follows him soon after.

“Is it? Because dad was obsessing over the same house and for pretty much the same reason. The only difference I see here, Eliot, is that he was married to his reason. You? You’re not even talking to this guy. Last I heard, his last letter to you was to tell you that you weren’t gonna talk ever again.”

“Screw you, David,” Eliot delivers bitterly.

He moves to stomp back into the house, but his brother grabs his arm and forcefully pulls him back.

“No, El. I’m tired of half-conversations. I let you go on like this, you either run away again or get yourself killed. I’m not here for any of those options, okay? So we’ll do this the hard way, but we’ll deal with it.”

Eliot pulls his arm away, but his feet don’t take him anywhere. Instead, he sways in place, hand rubbing at where his brother grabbed him. For a moment there, he stands in silence, feeling his bottled up emotions crushing his throat and trying to escape.

“I’ve never felt like this before, David,” he admits in a hushed tone.

His brother’s expression softens, but he doesn’t interrupt, waiting instead for Eliot to speak his mind.

“I can understand how it’s all vague and hypothetical for him. He doesn’t remember ever meeting me, so I’m just a voice lost in words he reads. Or used to. But, for me? I spent time with him. I saw him twice and we actually _talked_ at one of those. I had him in my arms, David. He’s not just an idea to me. He’s a real person who is out there and who I want to be with.”

He starts getting worked up, so he paces around in front of his brother, scratching his head as he goes. A million repressed thoughts spin inside his head.

“And I know I’m not married to the guy, and you can argue that we don’t really know each other that well, since we only talked sporadically over letters for a few months. But, David, I never felt this sort of connection to anyone else in my whole life. And that includes Bambi. This is a whole other level of indescribable thing here and I don’t know what to make of it.”

He stops, shoulders dropping as he lets the air in his lungs out in a deep resigned sigh.

“But you’re also right. He cut me out of his life and I can’t make him want to be with me if he doesn’t want to.” He shrugs. “I still want him to have the lake house, if he wants. I’m changing a few things in the plans, making it better overall. I told you I wanted it to feel like a home more than just a glass house. If I succeed, I’ll give him the chance to have it. That’s all I want.”

David steps closer and pats him on the shoulder before coming to stand in front of him. He lowers his head in front of Eliot, trying to catch his gaze. When he does, he gives him a one-sided sad smile.

“Okay. If that’s all, then I’ll let you finish it. What I won’t do, however, is let you waste years of your life on this. I want you to be happy, El. And you know I don’t believe that crap about there only being one person for you. If I hadn’t met Amanda when I did, I’m sure we would have found someone else and be happy still. I’m glad we did, though, and that we’re happy together, but we would have turned out fine either way.”

He stops to give Eliot an encouraging smile, squeezing his shoulder in a sign of brotherly support.

“You’re a lovely person, Eliot. I’m sure you’ll find your other someone, too. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like Quentin was going to be it for you.”

Eliot nods. He doesn’t take the first step, but once David throws his arms around him and pulls him into a tight, long hug, he doesn’t hesitate to hold him back just as tight.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” he whispers, trying his best to keep his sobs from escaping his lips.

David squeezes him tighter.

“You’re not. You’re a work in progress, and you’re already getting so much better, El. I promise. I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

He nods in his brother’s embrace, where he stays a few minutes longer. Neither mention how wet his face is once they pull back. They just make sure everything is finally out in the open before they return inside to their family.

\---

**24 th December 2021**

Quentin is once again pulled into a small gathering of people (he’s decided not to use the word “party”), this time in Julia’s apartment.

Her boyfriend went back home for the holidays, having promised to come back for New Year’s, and she invited Quentin and Alice over for a small exchange of presents. She even told them they could take the guest room and “the limited privacy that thin apartment walls have to offer”, which Alice politely declined.

However, the blond woman encouraged her boyfriend to stay and spend some time with his best friend. Quentin knew she was driving back home for lunch with the family on the 25th and she’d rather go back home and finish packing before getting a few hours of sleep in preparation for the long drive.

It was a nice break from routine. Quentin liked Alice, but living with her felt somewhat oppressive sometimes. It was good to take a break and interact with other people other than her on a regular basis.

After dinner, they all sat on the comfortable couch, having already picked up their presents from under the tree.

Alice started opening hers, giving Quentin a sweet kiss for a “perfect present” and a warm hug to Julia for getting her just what she needed.

Julia was next. Quentin’s gift to her was a product of an inside joke, while Alice’s was a more general gift, the kind you can never go wrong with.

Finally, Alice handed Quentin his present. He looked down at a square object, wrapped in crazy reindeer festivity paper. He knew it was going to be a book from the get go, he just wondered what it could possibly be.

With his nails digging through the corners of the folded paper wrapper, he pulled lightly to get it to rip open. Once he cleared all the paper away, he found himself looking down at a brand new copy of a recent edition of _Orlando_.

He froze, not really knowing how to feel about this. He felt Julia tense behind him, but Alice seemed oblivious to it all.

“I saw you loved that book and your copy was already so damaged that I thought you could use a new one. This way, if the other one ever falls apart, you’ll have this perfectly good one to keep reading it as much as you’d like.”

Quentin let his fingers follow the corners of the new book, trying to ignore the pang he felt deep inside him at the thought of his father’s book ever falling apart.

“That’s a really thoughtful gift, Alice. I can’t believe you’ve outdone me this way,” Julia joked from beside him. He couldn’t help but read the awkward tone underlining her words.

Alice beamed, her hand falling on Quentin’s knee and squeezing. He gave her a small smile.

“You can always try again next year, Julia,” she teased back.

“Thank you, Alice,” Quentin whispered, feeling slightly overwhelmed and confused about his contradicting emotions.

She squeezed his knee again before leaning over and gifting him with a sweet kiss.

“I have to go now, but I’m sure you guys will have loads of fun without me.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Julia says, getting up from her seat and leading the way.

Quentin hears them chat in the background, but his gaze is still focused on this brand new copy. He can’t help but feel like it holds no meaning to him. This wasn’t the one his father read. His hands never touched these pages. His fingernails never followed the words in those lines. His fingertips never turned page after page, wanting to uncover more and more of its story.

This book doesn’t have a dedication written and signed by him. It wasn’t lost and then found. It wasn’t returned to him by someone who understands its weight in Quentin’s life. It wasn’t brought back to his life on his birthday by said man, who did God knows what to make sure Quentin would find it. The man who left a note inside it that made his heart grow three sizes inside his chest and then break into million little pieces.

He doesn’t notice it when Julia returns, but he feels her hand rubbing his back and telling him to breathe in and then out, slowly. Deep, slow inhales and exhales. He hadn’t even realized he was getting that close to the brink, having been so lost in his own thoughts.

On the other hand, Alice’s words make sense. The story itself is still there, it’s still the same. It’s still the same words his father wanted him to read. It’s the meaning he wanted his son to grasp between those endless lines. Her wanting him to have something he so clearly cherishes without wanting to damage it any further is actually quite heartwarming. It just feels… disconnected, somehow.

A few minutes and a glass of water later, Quentin assures Julia that he’s feeling much better.

“It’s a really good gift. I understand what she was trying to do,” he confides in her. “If anything, it’s my fault she doesn’t know why that particular copy is so meaningful to me.”

It takes another moment for her to speak again.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t, Q. I meant what I said, it is a very considerate gift. I merely worried how you’d react, knowing all the other ties you have to this book now.”

He leans back on the couch with a sigh. He leafs through the book before putting it down on the coffee table in front of them, watching its glass top reflect the blinking lights around the small Christmas tree that Julia put up in the corner of her living room.

“I’m looking into finding a new, bigger place for us. I think we’re ready for that next step.”

Julia remains silent and Quentin doesn’t push it. He knows that it’ll take her some adjustment, but, in the end, she’ll side with him, regardless of what he chooses to do.

“She needs her own corner for work, a silent part of the house, far away from the TV. And I was also thinking of having the bedroom be farther away from the front door, so I won’t wake her up when I come home from my night shifts. She doesn’t go back to sleep easily after that and then gets cranky. We could even have a guest room, and a nice little corner for Muntjac,” he starts going, mostly on autopilot at this point.

“I actually wanted to tell you something, but I’m not sure this is the right moment anymore,” she breaks her silence moments after. “But I fear that, if I don’t tell you now, then it’ll be too late and it just can’t go unsaid.”

He turns in his seat, curling a leg closer to him and looking at her friend. Julia remains sitting forward, looking at the book on the coffee table.

“Okay,” he says when it seems like she’s waiting for his verbal approval. “What is it?”

He watches her reach for the book, opening and closing it in random pages.

“You’ll be mad at me, so all I ask is that you let me explain it all first. Then you can decide to do whatever you want. I’ll accept whatever decision you make.”

She finally looks up at him just as he frowns at her words.

“You told Eliot to stop writing to you because you’d never go back to the lake house to pick up any more of his letters,” she continues. “But I had a feeling that that wasn’t going to stop him, so I went there and grabbed whatever he’d send you. I went back a few times and gathered them all.”

She leans forward again, putting down the book and grabbing a small box from underneath the glass top of the coffee table.

She places it in her lap and removes the lid. Inside are a dozen opened envelopes.

“I read them. Sorry. I know they weren’t meant for me, but I couldn’t not do anything. I wanted to make sure this guy was really fighting for you. The way you guys talked to each other, it always felt weird to me that he wouldn’t show up or call you when you tried to set things up to meet.”

Quentin’s gaze is locked on the amount of paper inside the small box, but he doesn’t say a word, letting her say her piece. He wouldn’t even know what to say, anyway, when it feels like his heart is trying to crush his windpipe.

“I needed to know that he was the real deal and that he really cared. I had to make sure before I tried to convince you to give him another chance.”

“Jules…”

“His last letter came a couple weeks before your birthday,” she continues, powering through her explanation, not wanting Quentin to put a stop to it before he has the whole story.

“He said it was going to be his last. I guess he finally grew tired of waiting for a reply from you. He still cares, you can tell from what he writes, but he said he was going to stop doing the selfish thing and instead respect your wishes to cease communication.”

Those words echo the sentiment in the small note still stuck between the pages of his favorite book back home. His gut twists at the knowledge.

She reaches for the envelope at the top and removes the letter from the inside.

“He told me where to find your book.”

She hands him the letter. Numbingly, he accepts it with his unsure yet curious fingers. Before he lets his eyes lose themselves in the words he kept himself from for so long, he looks at Julia. He watches as she gets up and leaves the open box on her now empty seat, inviting him to take a look inside.

“I’ll give you some time, ok? I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Then she turned and left the room. Left him with the temptation of feasting on Eliot’s words.

Looking down at his lap, he starts reading Eliot’s last letter.

_“I don’t know if you’ve been getting any of my letters. Probably not. At least I haven’t gotten any sign that you may have changed your mind about us continuing to talk._

_It’s okay. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be, I guess. Even when you think they’re finally the right thing for you._

_Either way, because I don’t know if you’re coming back for these, I decided to leave this here in advance. I know it’s not your birthday yet, and I wanted you to get this then, but because I can’t be sure and I don’t want to miss it, I’m warning you ahead._

_I hid your book in the floorboards of your bedroom. I’m hoping you’ll still be living in the address you gave me by the time this letter makes it back to you, otherwise this will be a complete bust._

_I wanted to hand it to you in person, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening any time soon. Since beggars can’t be choosers, I decided to let you have this on your own terms. Kind of. I didn’t want to risk leaving it in the mailbox in case you never come back here, so I hid it somewhere I knew you’d find eventually, even if by accident. This is the only way I could find to deliver the book to you without you having to see me._

_Before I go, let me just make something very clear here: just because I’m choosing to stop writing to you, it doesn’t mean I’ll stop caring. You mean a lot to me, and if those months of exchanged letters and the two times we’ve crossed paths are all I’ll ever have, then I’ll hold those memories close._

_I’ve moved out of the lake house because, according to the timeline we kind of drew here, you should be moving in soon. I’m risking my neck coming here now to deliver this last letter. Still, I hope it finds you safe and sound._

_Take care, my sweet prince._

_-El”_

Quentin lets his tears fall as he slips the letter back inside the envelope. He places it inside the box again and closes the lid, not wanting to go back on his progress here.

Once he’s calmed down, he makes his way to Julia’s bedroom. The door is open and she’s sitting on her bed, reading. She looks up when she sees him in the doorway, gripping the box.

He walks in, shoves it at her and tells her to take it away from him. She nods and thankfully doesn’t argue. He stands there, looking at his feet and twiddling his thumbs while she disappears to go hide the box from him.

When she returns, she wraps her arms around him and he sobs into her arms. They end up falling asleep on her bed, curled up together. Julia never mentions Eliot again after that night.

\---

**14 th February 2020**

“Emma was super excited because she got a top mark on that school project you helped her with,” David tells his younger brother as they walk down the street.

“Honestly, the credit is all hers. I just helped her see that she could totally pull it off. You got a smart one there. It must have come from her mother’s side or something,” Eliot teases.

“Ha ha. Funny. I hope you realize that my side is also your side whenever you say those things.”

Eliot shrugs.

“Not my fault if I got all the better genes.”

David pushes his shoulder lightly and they both laugh. It reminds Eliot of when they were children and would tease each other endlessly.

“Hey, do you want to go out for dinner later? There’s this great place by the firm that I’d like you to try. Margo and I went there a couple of days ago and I swear I’ve been dreaming of their food ever since.”

David chuckles, reaching to pat Eliot’s flat stomach. “Are you pregnant or something, lil’ bro?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a laugh, pushing his brother’s hands away.

“I actually can’t,” David adds. “Amanda and I are going out today. It’s Valentine’s Day, dude. We actually got a babysitter this year, so we’re making the most of it and actually leaving the house for once. You know, before things get any worse. It really seems we’re headed that way anyway–”

“Wait,” Eliot interrupts, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and pulling on his brother’s arm to get him to stop as well. “What did you say?”

“That we’re going out since we got a babysitter this year. But if you want to stay with the kids, it’s some extra money we’ll save. And they’d love to spend the evening with you, I’m sure. And you could even stay over.”

Eliot shakes his head and frowns.

“No, not that. What day is it today?”

“February 14th aka Valentine’s Day. How did this escape you? There are hearts everywhere we go,” David points out, gesturing at a café near them with pink and red paper hearts on their windows.

“February 14th 2020,” he murmurs to himself, ignoring his brother.

“What’s wrong, El?”

“I know where he’ll be,” he replies, smile beaming on his face, patting his brother’s arm excitingly.

“Who?” he asks, frowning at Eliot.

“I have to go to the lake house,” he says instead.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. Before lunchtime.”

And then he runs off, leaving his very confused brother standing there and watching him disappear down the street.

\---

**14th February 2022**

Quentin rushes into the building just as his phone starts ringing. He immediately picks up.

“Sorry, sorry. I literally just walked into the place. What floor is it again?” he asks, waving at the people inside the open elevator to hold it open for him.

_“32nd. Give the receptionist your name and he’ll show you to the right office, ok?”_ Alice replies.

Quentin nods, even though she can’t see him, hangs up and runs towards the elevator before the door closes.

“Thank you,” he says, getting a couple of nods in response.

When he reaches the right floor, he makes it to the door with the words “Whitespire Associates”. He pushes it open and walks towards the reception desk.

“Good morning. My name is Quentin Coldwater and I’m here for an appointment with Ms. Hanson. My girlfriend, Alice Quinn, is already inside.”

The man behind the desk gets up and shows him the way to the right office, like Alice told him he would.

He knocks on the door and walks inside. Alice looks up from her seat.

“Hey, you’re here,” she says, smiling happily at him.

Quentin looks around, but no one else is there.

“Where is Ms. Hanson?”

Alice waves it off and pulls him closer to sit down on the other chair beside her. He pauses, though, when something on the wall catches his eye.

“She’ll be right back. She has just left to get some plans for us to look at,” his girlfriend explains. “Apparently, she came up with three different options to choose from for the place you picked.”

Something in the plan on the wall seems to pull him towards it. He frowns as he approaches. They’re all lines upon lines, and it looks somewhat different from the last time Quentin looked at it, but he’s pretty sure that’s…

“The lake house,” he mutters in awe.

“Yeah,” a new voice comes up behind him and he vaguely hears a door close.

His heart rate picks up pace and he feels his breathing starting to match it. He reaches out to touch it before he can stop himself.

“You’re familiar with this work?” the woman – Mr. Hanson for sure – asks.

He gulps and turns around, only to freeze in his spot. His chest stutters in its movements, trying to keep pace with his increasing anxiety. Flashes of a red coat in an old photograph paired with a beaming smile make him take a step back to get his bearings.

“Quentin,” Alice’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. He watches as she gets up slowly to approach him, a growing concerned look on her face. “Are you feeling alright? You’re starting to look a bit pale.”

“You’re,” he starts, pointing at the dark-haired woman. “You’re Margo.”

The woman in question seems to be equally frozen in surprise. Her eyebrows rise and Quentin watches as she takes in a quick breath before exhaling just as fast.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims in an anguished tone. “You’re the prince.”

He remembers that nickname. That’s what Eliot’s brother called him. It jolts something inside him. He frowns when the woman reaches to hold on to her desk, her own breathing picking up.

“Oh my god,” she repeats. Quentin looks on, confused, as he watches her start to tear up.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks delicately and approaches her. She grabs his arms and looks up at him, tears falling down her face.

“You’re Quentin, aren’t you? _His_ Quentin.”

“What? What is she talking about?” Alice’s confused voice barely reaches his ears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Margo instead, sensing that this emotional turnabout didn’t come out of the blue.

The woman shakes her head, her hands on Quentin tremble and she grips him even tighter.

“You don’t know. We didn’t know how to reach you. We couldn’t find the letters.”

Fear spikes and his anxiety starts to feel all-consuming.

“What happened? Is he okay?”

Margo lets out a sob before releasing him and wiping her tears.

“He died. Exactly two years to this day.”

The world stops spinning, but Quentin feels himself losing his footing.

“Quentin, you need to sit down. You’re looking awfully pale right now. Please, breathe with me, ok?” Alice’s voice comes to him as if coming from the end of a tunnel.

He’s starting to lose sensation on his fingertips, looking down to see them turn a funny color. That’s also when he realizes that both Alice and Margo had pushed him down onto a chair.

He knows he’s still breathing and Alice is doing her damn hardest to get him to calm down, but he could swear his lungs have collapsed.

His heart shatters inside him and his vision swims.

“It was so stupid,” Margo continues through her tears, gripping one of Quentin’s cold and shaking hands. “It was an accident. The people who were there said he wasn’t really looking at where he was going. He stepped down from the pavement right as the bus was driving past.”

Alice’s hands are rubbing his arm, but Margo’s words are what pull on Quentin’s strings to bring him back to earth.

“A… a bus? Where was this?” he asks, his voice tinged with desperate madness.

“Near that place with the Picasso sculpture,” Margo replies quietly, wiping yet another stray tear.

Quentin’s heart jumps.

“The Daley Plaza?”

She nods vigorously. “Yeah, that’s the one. Why?”

He quickly gets to his feet, ignoring the women’s protests.

“What day is it today?” he asks, looking wildly between the two of them, waiting to see which one of them will give him the fastest answer.

“Valentine’s Day. We made plans for later, remember?” Alice reminds him in a sweet voice that is so unlike everything else he’s learning right now that he feels like he may pass out.

“Oh god,” he stutters, holding a hand to his chest. He doesn’t know how he’s survived all these continuous blows. He shakes his head and closes his fists.

“It was around lunchtime, wasn’t it?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. Margo nods and frowns.

“How did–”

Quentin lets out a humorless laugh before he clamps his mouth shut when it starts to turn into a raw sob.

“I was there. I didn’t know him yet. He… I tried to save him.”

Margo seems to take that in. If she knows about them, Quentin wonders if Eliot told her about that terrible day.

She shakes her head and more tears spill. She reaches out to him, a soft and almost motherly expression on her face.

“No, Quentin, it wasn’t your fault.”

He pulls his arm away before she can grab him.

“But it was. He was only there because I told him where I was. I told him about it.” His stomach turns. “I think I’m gonna be sick. I literally told him about how he died right there and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Quentin?” Alice tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. He looks at her and she’s looking back as if he’s finally lost it. “What are you talking about? Who died?”

He shakes his head and focuses on keeping the air going in and out of his lungs at a normal rate.

“He went to the lake house that day. David told me later that he said there was something in there that he needed,” Margo explains, eyes wide. “Do you think… Could it still be working?”

He straightens up, eyebrows rising. He looks at the clock on the wall and an idea strikes him.

“Margo. That’s just it,” he says, chest lifting with hope once more. He grins at her. “He hasn’t died _yet_. It’s only 10 am. I can still fix it.”

He nods to himself and takes deep breaths. He turns around, already making his way back to the office door, talking over his shoulder as he picks up the pace.

“I’m gonna try to save him, Margo. Please root for me.”

She gives him a small unsure smile. Quentin doesn’t take it to heart. He knows she doesn’t want to get her hopes up and then relieve all the grief. He can’t even know for sure if there’s still a chance that he’ll stop this from happening. And if he does succeed, he has no idea how that’s going to change the last two years of their lives.

Still, he hopes and he runs out of the door and in a straight line towards the elevators, ignoring Alice’s confused voice, yelling his name as he makes it inside and slams the button for the lobby.

\---

**14th February 2020**

His car is barely parked in front of the lake house when Eliot opens the door and exits it. He makes a run for the door, using the keys with shaking fingers.

This is it. He’ll know exactly where Quentin was on this day and he’ll get to see him again, only days before Quentin reads his first letter and starts this whole chain of events.

He can’t stop smiling. He’s so close to getting to meet him at last, to be in the same timeline and interact.

Eliot pulls on the cord that opens the entrance to the attic. Pulling the stairs down, he makes his way up. When he reaches the top, he pulls out his cellphone and uses its flashlight to find the box with the letters Quentin had sent him.

The attic is mostly empty, so it’s easy to find. He sneezes as he pulls the box closer to him, bringing a whole lot of dust with it.

He hugs it close, not even caring that his shirt is going to get ruined by this, and makes his way back down.

He puts it down and wipes the top of it and opens it. It takes him a few minutes, but he finally finds the letter where Quentin tells him about the lunch he had with his mother.

_“I was having a really bad day at work, back in February. (…) Then I had a really nice lunch break with my mom at the Daley Plaza.”_

“Yes!” he yells triumphantly in the empty glass house.

He places the letter in his pocket and puts the box down, closes it, and places it back in the attic before leaving the house.

\---

**14th February 2022**

The tires squeal as Quentin hits the breaks fast. He’d driven like a mad man on his way to the lake house. He did try to be as careful as possible, as it looked like a downpour could break at any second, and how could he possibly save Eliot if he went and got himself killed before he could even get to that damn mailbox? Regardless, the need to make it there in time had won out in the end.

He hasn’t stopped shaking since he got the news of Eliot’s death. Weird to think this whole thing between them started when the guy was already dead in Quentin’s timeline. He closes his eyes and shakes his head to clear his mind of those thoughts.

“Shit,” he mutters when his trembling fingers let the pen slip from their grasp. He writes down his note for Eliot as fast as he can before ripping the page from his notebook and running towards the mailbox.

He opens the latch, throws the paper inside it, closes it and lifts the little red flag.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

Quentin grabs his notebook again and writes a lengthier explanation and shoves that in the mailbox, too.

Then he starts pacing, his heart seemingly wanting to beat its way out of his chest and the anxiety making him fidget.

“Please, Eliot. Please.”

\---

**14th February 2020**

Eliot picks up his pace the closer he gets to the Plaza. His heart is doing weird jumps inside his chest and he’d be more worried about his health if he didn’t know exactly why that is.

The last time he saw Quentin was at the party where they shared a moment. It’s been more than a year now. He just wants to see him again.

His eyes finally find the Picasso sculpture on the other side of the road. He walks closer until he’s standing in a direct line in front of it. There are people walking past him as he stops to stare at it.

He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes drift lower until he finds two people sitting on it, talking and laughing while having lunch.

Eliot is looking at Quentin again. After so long, he’s finally in his sights once more. He longs to cross the street and see him from up closer. He takes another step closer to the road, trying to calm down that deep pull inside him.

\---

**14th February 2022**

Quentin is biting his nails, looking down at his watch. It’s been more than half an hour though, and still no response from Eliot.

He stops pacing when he feels the first drops of water fall from the sky. It only takes two minutes for him to be completely drenched.

He refuses to leave his spot right by the mailbox, though.

“Eliot, for God’s sake. If you die, I’ll kill you, you hear me?” he yells at it, as if _that_ message would reach the other man faster.

The water starts pouring even harder and Quentin’s panic starts to take over. His hands fall on the mailbox, willing it to give him some sort of sign.

“Please, Eliot. I need you to survive this. I had no idea, ok? I should never have stopped sending you letters. Please, forgive me. Please,” he whispers as he falls to his knees, his voice completely drowned out by the rain pouring down on him.

His breathing is now out of control, his tears are mixing with the rainwater, and his body is shaking both from the cold and the anxiety taking over it. He fears he may pass out if he doesn’t get his shit together soon. Still, he refuses to let go of the wooden post of the mailbox.

“Don’t do this to me, please.” He looks up at the dark sky. “Let me have this one good thing. Don’t let him die. I can’t…”

He trails off, letting his sobbing and grief take over.

He’s kneeling, body curled over itself and face hidden behind shaking hands when he hears a car pull up.

Quentin looks up, heart stuck in his throat, but he can’t make out anything because of the rain.

\---

**14th February 2020**

Eliot reaches into his pocket and pulls out the letter he’d picked up from the lake house, which told him exactly where to be today.

_“This guy was hit by a bus not very far from us. All the screaming, all the panic and the blood… it was awful, Eliot. (…) I did everything I could. It wasn’t enough. The EMTs arrived and took over, but the man died anyway. On Valentine’s Day, out of all things. I don’t know why, but it hit me especially hard.”_

With a heavy heart, he reaches into his pocket once more to retrieve a small note and a slightly longer letter.

The first one simple reads, in fast writing:

_“Please, don’t try to meet me at the Daley Plaza today, because you’ll die if you do.”_

And wasn’t that a fucking shock to the system. After so long without hearing any word from Quentin, he gets a note that says he’ll die if he tries to do exactly what he was trying to do?

The second one had arrived moments after that one, while Eliot was still staring at the first note, a cold chill running down his spine. It read:

_“I swear, Eliot. You can’t die on me now. I broke so many laws driving here to make it in time to stop you and I’m losing my mind._

_I met Margo today. She told me you died 2 years ago. Exactly two years ago. You were in an accident. You stepped onto the road and were hit by a bus._

_At Daley Plaza, Eliot. While I was having lunch with my mom._

_You’re him, Eliot. You’re the guy I tried to save that day but still ended up dying._

_I couldn’t save you then. Please let me save you now._

_Don’t go looking for me. Don’t try to find me. I’m sure I’ll go back to the lake house anyway and find your letter, still. We’ll talk. Let me get to know you._

_I tried to forget you and push you away because I thought you didn’t care about me anymore and that’s why you didn’t call or show up to our meeting. But now I know. You couldn’t make it, even if you wanted to._

_Please, please. If you get this, wait for me. Two years isn’t that long when we can be together after that, right?_

_Meet me at the lake house on this day, in 2022. I’ll be here waiting for you._

_Love,_

_Q”_

“Okay, Quentin,” Eliot says out loud, pocketing the letters and throwing one last look at the man he’d fallen for, sitting so far out of reach still.

“The countdown starts now.”

He watches the bus drive right past him, turns on his heels and walks away.

\---

**14th February 2022**

Quentin squints at the lights, heart lodged in his throat. He jumps when the little red flag behind him goes down.

“He read it. Fuck, he read it!” he whispers madly, turning around to face the mailbox in astonishment, forgetting all about the car for a second.

Then the car door slams closed and Quentin jumps right back.

“Quentin!”

A tall and slender man is making his way towards him, getting more and more drenched with every step he takes. Quentin doesn’t care.

“Eliot, please tell me that’s you,” he manages, shaking still and trying to get his heart to calm the fuck down.

The man is now two steps away from being within arm’s reach. Quentin watches him smile and nod.

“Turns out you were right all along. I was the prince who needed rescuing.”

The dam breaks and Quentin throws himself at him. He hugs him tight, wanting to feel him, make sure he’s right there in his arms, alive and breathing.

“Oh god,” he lets out with a shudder, his whole body reacting in all sorts of ways, feeling suddenly elated, but still purging the worry and grief from his system.

Eliot lets Quentin push his face onto his chest and cry it out. His long fingers find Quentin’s drenched beanie. He lifts it and pushes the other man’s wet hair back from his face. Then, he places the woolen beanie back over it, all the while shushing him and trying to calm him down.

“Shit, shit, shit, Eliot,” Quentin mumbles, fingers tightening on the back of Eliot’s coat. “I thought I’d finally lost you. I can still remember it happening. I saw you _die_ right there, Eliot. There was so much blood, and-and I couldn’t save you.”

He trembles and another cold chill runs down his spine and coils in his belly.

“Hey,” Eliot interrupts his mad spiral in a calm voice. “I’m here. You _did_ save me. I followed your lead and here I am, alive and well. Though I don’t know about this cold rain pouring over us. I may also end up with a collapsed lung if you don’t stop squeezing me so hard,” he wheezes for dramatic purposes.

Quentin immediately loosens his hold and goes to take a step back and away from Eliot’s embrace, but the taller man only pulls him back closer.

“No, no, shh, don’t let go. I’ve waited two years for this. Or, well, maybe even more.”

Quentin feels it when Eliot places a soft kiss on the top of his head and gives him a last squeeze before he pulls back, still keeping Quentin close.

He looks up at the cloudy skies with a frown, but there’s a lasting grin on his face. In response, Quentin’s heart is doing cartwheels in his chest and falling even more in love. How did he ever think that if he stopped exchanging letters with Eliot and forced himself to settle down with Alice, he could somehow smother all of those feelings?

“But we should probably go somewhere else less cold and wet, yeah,” Eliot declares, looking back down at him, eyes shining with a feeling that Quentin is sure is reflected in his own.

So he lets his fingers slide down Eliot’s arm and find their place intertwined with Eliot’s. He tugs on Eliot’s hand and leads them back to the lake house.

He pauses at the front door when he realizes that he doesn’t have the keys to the place anymore. He turns around to tell Eliot exactly that, but there’s an amused smile on the man’s lips already. Quentin watches as the tall man pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door.

“After you, my prince,” he whispers. Quentin melts only a tiny little bit. Or, okay, maybe a whole lot, but it’s okay. As long as Eliot keeps smiling at him like that, warming him up from the inside, he’ll be alright.

When they’re both inside the house and protected from the rain, Eliot starts rubbing Quentin’s arms in an effort to warm up his cold body.

“I was so scared I wouldn’t make it in time,” Quentin whispers, fingers splaying on Eliot’s chest, still not able to stop touching him.

He’s pretty sure he’s real and alive and he’s not hallucinating the whole thing, but he’s not about to tempt fate and take his hands away only to see Eliot dissolve in front of him like a ghost.

“You did. Just about, actually,” Eliot confesses. “I’d come back here to check on the letters I’d left in the attic. My brother was telling me that it was Valentine’s Day and I remembered you had mentioned where you were on that day. So I came here, read through the letters you’d sent me and found the one where you first mentioned the accident. I’ll be honest with you and say I didn’t even pay much attention to it when I was reading it again. All I wanted was to know where you were. I wanted to see you again.”

Eliot lets go and takes a step back and away from Quentin, who whines pitifully at the momentary loss.

“You stopped talking to me. I had no idea what I’d done wrong. I tried to make it up to you somehow, make sure things would happen so you’d still send me that letter. I left the lake house so you could rent it.” He pauses and gestures around them. “I even hid _Orlando_ under the floorboards of your bedroom. Did you see it?”

Quentin nods, remembering the bittersweet feeling of finding his favorite book, hidden by one of his favorite people – who he’d thought had let him down, when, in reality… He closes his eyes and vows not to think about it again. It didn’t happen, so he’s not going to torture himself thinking about Eliot’s death, even if the memory of it happening is still very much alive in his brain.

“You wrapped it in plastic.”

Eliot gives a noncommittal shrug.

“I didn’t want any bugs to get to it in the meantime.”

Quentin wants to kiss him. He wants to hold him in his arms and never let go.

“Julia came to the lake house a few times in the past year or so. She took all of your letters home and read them. I couldn’t read them anymore. I knew I’d just go right back to writing to you endlessly, and I was trying to break a pattern.”

He shakes his head at himself, an unamused chuckle leaving his lips.

“Then, one day, she comes by the apartment and the floorboard in my bedroom casually becomes loose as soon as she steps on it. The thing is, she’d stomped in there like a damn elephant. When I saw what was underneath it, I knew it had come from you. There’s no way she could possibly have known about that without her getting that information from you somehow. I just didn’t know how she had direct access to you. I never thought you’d kept writing, to be honest. Then last year, at Christmas, she fessed up and told me she had all of your letters.”

Quentin looks away, embarrassed.

“I haven’t read them yet. She showed me the box where she kept them… I told her to hide them from me. I don’t know if she still has them.”

Eliot gives him an encouraging smile.

“It’s okay. You can still read them, if you want to. There’s some nice tortured angst in there. I’m not exactly proud of how desperate I was to get you to talk to me again. Not that it did me any good,” he finishes with a seemingly unaffected shrug.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin says automatically, but it feels lacking. There is so much they need to build back up between them, but he’s willing to put it all on the line to make it work this time.

“Speaking of best friends, you’ve met Margo?” the other man asks, bringing him back to the present.

“Oh my god, I need to call her.” He starts patting his pockets, but then he remembers he left everything in his car. “I need to know if she’s alright and aware of the change that’s just happened. Fuck… did I mess up the natural order of things in the universe or something?”

Eliot’s face turns to a contemplative look.

“I have two years’ worth of memories with my brother, with Margo, at work… But I’m not really the best test subject, considering I’d be dead otherwise.” He notices Quentin’s flinch. “Sorry. It’s been two years for me. I’ve had time to deal and compartmentalize to the point where making jokes about it doesn’t affect me at all. I didn’t mean to be an insensitive asshole.”

Quentin shakes his head, unable to voice his thoughts just yet. He does reach for Eliot again, who acquiesces and drifts closer so Quentin can put his hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t told me how you’ve come to meet Margo.”

Quentin scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, so… There’s something I should probably take care of before any of this,” he admits, gesturing between them, “can happen.”

Eliot frowns and pulls away again, surely already going through a hundred different possible scenarios in his mind. Quentin lets him go with a sigh, shoulders dropping. He removes his wet beanie, slipping it in his pocket and buying himself some time.

“I did a stupid thing. Well, it didn’t seem stupid at the time, but I see it for what it actually is now.”

He looks up at Eliot, who is frowning at him, and throws him his best ‘please forgive me for I am dumb sometimes’ look.

“I got back together with Alice.”

He watches the punch land exactly as he thought it would. He winces when Eliot looks away and nods to himself.

“I see.”

“Ok, before this gets out of hand and we fall into some sort of misunderstanding, I need you to know that things with her haven’t changed much. What that means is that she started off easy on me, but she’s been going back to her old ways and things between us haven’t been working too well lately.”

“Quentin, you don’t need to find excuses to let her go or something. I’ll be glad to be in your life as your friend. That’ll be enough for me.”

But Quentin reaches forward and grabs Eliot’s wrists. The turmoil of emotions inside him grows tenser and he feels himself reaching yet another precipice.

“But it won’t be enough for me,” he admits softly, lips quivering. “I love you.”

“Quentin,” Eliot starts, trying to pull his wrists free.

“No, please. Let me… I need to say this. This is my truth and I need to let it out of my chest or I may just… I don’t know. I… Let me do this.”

Eliot stops fighting back. His concerned look falls upon Quentin and the shorter man can’t help but marvel at the feeling. It’s way more intense than what he has ever felt with Eliot’s most loving letters. The heavy and meaningful gaze he feels gives him the last bit of confidence he lacked to spear himself open like this, completely vulnerable and laying his cards on the table.

“When I pulled away from you, I was scared. I was falling so fast for you and you were saying all the right things, making me feel so much, Eliot… It was blissful. Or as much as it could be without having you here.”

His thumbs rub against Eliot’s delicate skin, making the other man swallow and bite his lip.

“I was enjoying every bit of it I could get, secure in the knowledge that I’d have you here at some point, standing right in front of me, where we could finally make sense of things, for real, without a damn mailbox standing in the way.”

He steps closer, hands moving to Eliot’s elbows, neck bending slightly backwards to look up into Eliot’s shining eyes.

“You made me feel things I’d never felt before. I felt like a silly dumbstruck teenager sometimes. It was a heady feeling, but so, _so_ good.”

Eliot’s hands touch Quentin’s own elbows, making his breath hitch for a second, and slide their way upwards until he’s touching Quentin’s neck. He shivers in delight and lets himself bask in it for a moment longer. His hands drop to Eliot’s waist as he lets out the air momentarily trapped in his lungs.

“But then,” he starts, fingers curling against the fabric of Eliot’s clothes, “you never called and you didn’t show up. It was a bunch of mixed signals and I couldn’t make sense of any of it. You kept telling me you wanted us to have a happy ending and yet you kept bailing before we even made it that far.”

His eyes prickle with tears and he snaps his mouth shut before a sob can escape his lips. Eliot’s hands are a reassuring weight on his neck, a thumb caressing the line of Quentin’s jaw.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers tearfully. “I had no idea that I’d steered us so far off the course that you would get desperate enough to want to meet me either way. That you would cross that road without a second thought. That you would di-”

His voice cracks and gives way to uncontrollable sobbing. Eliot pulls him into his arms and shushes him again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Neither of us knew.” He starts rubbing Quentin’s back. “Besides, it was pretty stupid of me not to look both ways before crossing. Gosh, it’s like I was raised in a barn or something.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Quentin. But he’s not done yet. He pulls back again.

“Anyway,” he begins, wiping at his eyes, and laughs when Eliot joins with his own fingers. “I was disappointed. I was slightly mad. I thought it must have been my fault somehow, and that I’d been delusional enough to think I could make something this good, this amazing and important last outside of those letters. So when Alice showed up again…”

Eliot nods in understanding. “You took her up on her ‘let’s give it another chance’ idea.”

“Yeah,” Quentin mumbles in response. “In a way, I think I knew what I was getting into, but I was also determined to make this work. She cares about me, and that seemed more important than trying to figure out why you weren’t showing up.”

“And where does Margo fit into this?”

Quentin pulls away from Eliot’s warmth, wringing his hands and biting his lip.

“We were living together at my apartment, but it was getting a bit cramped. We kept getting in the way of each other. I thought the problem was obviously lack of space. If we could have a place where she could have her own office and a larger living room, so we could both be at home without having to be in the same room, then maybe things would work better.”

He looks at his shoes and chuckles.

“I see now that the problem was never the physical space of the apartment. I just couldn’t let her take over the space in my life that I’d set aside especially for you.”

He hears Eliot’s intake of breath but chooses not to look up and get sidetracked again.

“So I found this old building that needed some tuning, but would turn out to be exactly what I wanted. It wasn’t an apartment building anymore, it was a bit farther away from the crazy city life, and I’d finally have my own little space while leaving Alice to hers. It’s amazing how I didn’t realize I was already making plans to split up our supposedly conjoint life inside this house.”

His eyes find Eliot’s now.

“I don’t really want that with her. And, sure, it’s still early to take that immediate step with you,” he says, feeling his cheeks grow hotter, “but I want to get a chance to work out a way up to that. I want to get to know you better. I want us to date, for real. I really want to kiss you.”

Eliot’s eyebrows rise and he lets out an amused chuckle. Quentin bites his lip and breaks their eye contact.

“Yeah, I think we’re back to the same problem we had at that party. You’re too emotional and have a girlfriend, so I’m gonna have to politely decline that last one.”

Quentin smiles shyly up at him and closes the space between them again.

“For now, though?”

Eliot’s arms circle his waist and pull him close enough that Quentin can feel his body warmth.

“Yes, Q, only for now. I want all of that, too, but I want us to do this right. I need you to make sure this is really what you want, before you go and break her heart again.”

Quentin opens his mouth to argue, but Eliot places two fingers on it to put a stop to his words.

“I know what you’re gonna say, but this is a lot to process, ok? We have time. I promise. I’ve been extra careful to drag my own sad self all the way here alive and well. I don’t plan on letting that change anytime soon. I can wait a bit longer.”

He pulls back, reaches into his pocket and retrieves a business card.

“Here. It looks all fancy and professional, but you can call me there. I promise I’ll pick up this time. You know,” he explains, suddenly serious, “I couldn’t call you or meet with you before or I’d risk fucking it all up again. I had to change my number and break your heart to make sure you’d save me. Sounds messed up, and I’m really sorry you got hurt in the way, but it was the only way out of this for me.”

Quentin grabs it greedily and holds it in his hand as if it’s worth a fortune. His mind can’t even make sense of all the paradoxes Eliot is talking about right now. Quentin changed their timeline, and he may have fucked up more things than what he has fixed. He tries not to think of the possible doom he created for the world, because Eliot is here with him right now, so it was all worth it in the end.

As he looks down, he feels warm and moist lips place a kiss on his forehead.

“This will have to do for now,” Eliot declares. Then he grabs Quentin’s free hand, squeezes it and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Oh and before I forget, I love you, too.”

He pulls away, walking backwards towards the door. He smirks as he watches Quentin’s open mouth.

“Take your time, Quentin, but, please, don’t make me wait two more years.”

“I won’t,” he promises immediately.

Then Eliot leaves and Quentin grips the small paper in his hands all the harder to make sure all of it was real.

\---

**April 2022**

Quentin is trying really hard to sit still, but his leg is currently going through _something_.

He’s currently sitting at a booth in the small diner where he lost _Orlando_ almost 4 years ago. He is also waiting for Eliot, the hero who rescued his most precious book for him.

They have been exchanging text messages and occasionally calling each other on the phone (mostly at night, right before Quentin goes to sleep with a silly smile on his face), but they haven’t seen each other again since February. A project at work took Eliot away for a few weeks and Quentin has been keeping busy with his own job.

The other man had told him that it was better this way. Although he’d always make sure to keep in contact (because he understood the other’s need to know he was okay after his kind-of-but-not-really death), he thought things were getting too intense upon their first meeting (the first one that counts, at least) and Quentin needed to sort out his life with Alice before they could even consider anything between them.

Quentin followed his advice and let things settle. After Eliot left the lake house, Quentin drove back to his apartment, wanting nothing more than to warm his body and calm his nerves with a hot shower.

Upon arriving, though, he was met with Muntjac’s overflowing excitement and Alice’s cold stare. She took a look at him from head to toe and told him to get into the shower before they sat down to talk.

He didn’t mean to take long under the warm water, but he really was starting to feel the chill down to his bones, so he let out a contented sigh as he stood under the showerhead.

Once he was finished, he walked into the bedroom and put on the first clean clothes he could find. Then he rolled his shoulders back and went into the living room area. Alice was waiting for him on the couch, her fingers moving in absent patterns as she mulled over her thoughts.

He sat down beside her and promised to explain everything in as much simpler terms as he could, warning her that she’d think him absolutely insane for it, but that he refused to lie to her.

Accusations were made, and there were many apologies and tears mixed into the whole conversation, but Quentin made sure to let Alice know that he wasn’t trying to trick and hurt her on purpose. He honestly didn’t expect things with Eliot to have any other turn than absolute disaster (which, technically, it had), and he did care about her, but he feared that their differences were starting to get in the way again and break the harmony they had found when they had given their relationship a second chance.

Alice had understood, but had asked him for some space before they saw each other again. She also asked for some time to get her things packed from the apartment, so he told her he’d call Julia and ask to stay over for the next couple of days so Alice could get everything sorted.

A few minutes later, he had a duffle bag over his shoulder and was leaving his apartment to go to his best friend’s place, where he and Muntjac stayed for the next two days.

Back to the present, Quentin picks up his glass of water and takes a long sip. His throat is dry as a desert and his palms are sweating. Overall, he’s a mess.

He’s excited to finally see Eliot again, but he’s also worried that he’s just gonna throw himself at the guy the second his eyes land on him, so he’s keeping himself in check.

Speaking of the devil, Quentin hears the door open and in walks the man himself, his long elegant frame wrapped in lighter layers than the last time Quentin saw him.

He’s aware that he’s gawking at the other man, but he can’t help it. When Eliot finally spots him, there’s a smile of recognition that quickly turns into an amused smirk.

“Hey,” he greets as he sits down opposite Quentin.

For which Quentin is glad. He had been wondering what would be the best way to greet him. Would they shake hands? Hug? Kiss?

“Hi,” he stammers.

“I’m sure you don’t remember this,” Eliot continues, unfazed, “but this is the exact spot where I was sitting the day you spilled your bag’s contents on your way out of here.”

He points at their right.

“Your book slid all the way under that booth.”

Quentin’s gaze follows to where Eliot is pointing, trying to picture how his book fell from his bag and all the way down there.

“It was all dusty when I picked it up. David was super impressed, though. _It was like watching a fairytale happen right in front of your eyes_ , is how I think he phrased it. He knew I was there to get your book, but I don’t think he really believed we had any control over this weird timeless thing we were messing with until he saw me pull it out of there and wipe it clean,” he explains with a laugh.

Quentin chuckles and pushes his hair behind his ear. When he looks back at Eliot, he feels all these intense things going on inside his chest. For now, the only one he can decipher is an intense fondness. He wants to keep being a part of these small pieces of Eliot’s life.

A waitress approaches their table to take their order. After writing it all down, she turns away and Quentin drinks some more of his water before placing both of his hands on his knees. He doesn’t really know what to do with them anymore. It strikes him silly, because he never really gave much thought to where to place his hands when he was sitting at a table. Now, it’s like he’s forgotten all the basic things.

“Hey,” Eliot breaks through his jumble of thoughts with a soft voice. “Are you okay?”

Quentin nods quickly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just really happy you’re here and I’m trying not to,” he breaks off and starts gesturing around him. “You know?”

“Emote?” Eliot suggests with an amused look on his face.

Quentin shrugs, placing his hands back on the table. His fingers start moving restlessly as his previous thoughts come up in the back of his mind again.

He freezes when Eliot’s left hand covers his, the man’s long fingers touching his right wrist delicately.

“If it helps, I’m really happy and nervous to be here, too. I just hide that last part better.”

He winks at Quentin, but his hand doesn’t leave its place until the food is placed in front of them.

Over dinner, they talk about work and the things they’ve been doing over the last few weeks that didn’t make it on their phone conversations or texts. Eventually, Eliot brings up Alice. That’s a topic that they hadn’t really touched much over the phone. Eliot had never mentioned it and Quentin thought it was best to talk about this in person. He wanted to clear everything up and let Eliot know that he was ready to take the next step with him, if the other man was still interested.

“I feel bad for her. She didn’t know about any of this mess and she got hurt by it all,” Eliot comments.

“You’re right that she didn’t deserve to be involved in something as complicated as all of this,” Quentin agrees. “But I think it was always doomed from the start, El. Me and Alice, we never would have worked in the long run. I told you before, we were starting to get in each other’s ways a lot. Whenever I thought of the future of our relationship, I’d see us moving into a bigger place, where we wouldn’t be stepping on each other’s toes.”

He pauses and shakes his head.

“I didn’t see us moving somewhere bigger because it was better for us as a couple or because I had plans to have a family with her. I thought a bigger place was better for us because we could be inside the same house, but be apart from each other.”

Eliot pushes his plate away and reaches for Quentin’s fiddling fingers.

“If that’s how you felt, then why didn’t you talk to her about it? Maybe you could still fix things between you.”

Quentin lets his hands explore Eliot’s hands, his eyes following his fingers as they move across the other man’s skin.

“Eliot, I threw myself into this relationship already expecting it to fail. I guess my heart wasn’t really into it. It would either come down to some random argument that would have been the last straw or I would end up realizing that I kept waiting for my relationship with her to be more like ours,” he says, gesturing between him and Eliot. “In ways it could never be. What happened last Christmas made me realize that it was just a matter of time, really, before things fell apart for good.”

“Dare I ask?”

Quentin pulls away and leans back in his seat. His hands fall on his lap, where his fingers resume their nervous fidgeting.

“She gave me a brand new copy of _Orlando_ ,” he said, but didn’t elaborate right away.

Eliot frowns at him, unsure of what that statement is supposed to mean.

“That’s still your favorite book, right? I struggle to see how that was a bad thing.”

Quentin lets out a mirthless chuckle.

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t bad. Not really. It was really nice and innocent of her to give it to me. She saw that I kept my old copy on my nightstand and correctly assumed it was very precious to me. She got me a new copy because she wanted me to be able to still read it without having to resort to the book that’s looking a bit worse for wear.”

He rubs at his face before looking at Eliot again.

“The whole situation made me realize that she knew this was something important to me, I mean, she deduced it was, based on my reaction upon finding it a few months before, but she had no idea _why_ that book is so special to me. Eliot, she gave me a new copy with the purest of intentions and she doesn’t know it was my father who gave it to me, which is half of the reason why I care about it so much.”

He breaks eye contact, turning to hide his shame as he looks out the window.

“And the worst part is that, after all of that, I still didn’t feel particularly motivated to tell her. Not in a ‘I’ll keep this a secret from you forever because I don’t want to share it’ kind of way, but more of a ‘it wouldn’t mean anything to her’ or ‘it’s not important enough’, when it’s the last thing my dad gave me before he passed away and the only possession of his I still have and hold dear. That has a meaning. It is important. This is the sort of thing you’d share with someone you want to spend your life with, and I didn’t feel like sharing it with her.”

Quentin sighs and his shoulders drop.

“I’m a terrible person. She was being super kind and I didn’t even care enough to do the bare minimum to keep our relationship afloat. After that, I suggested we move somewhere with more space for us. I’m sure she saw it in a different way than what I truly meant, but she was excited about us getting our own place together and I wanted to feed off of that, hoping her positive thoughts would somehow tether my feelings on the whole thing. It was selfish and stupid of me to expect her to bear the whole weight of our relationship.”

There’s a long pause there. When he looks up, Eliot is still looking at him, waiting him out.

“Anyway,” he concludes, “That was that. It was never going to work because I wasn’t as invested in it as I tried to trick myself into believing. It was mostly denial and hope that time would fix things. As we both know from personal experience, time isn’t a very linear and reliable thing.”

That gets a smile out of Eliot.

“So that’s my baggage all laid out on the table. I suck at relationships, apparently, so be warned,” Quentin finishes, only half joking.

“Well, I’m no expert myself,” Eliot finally breaks his silence. “As you know, my relationship with my father was so damn tense that the only way I found to deal with it was to disappear off the face of the Earth for four years without telling anyone where I was or what I was doing. So, in regards to your baggage, we find ourselves in a pot and kettle situation here, I think.”

He leans forward on the table, resting his elbows on it. He extends his legs, too, and his feet brush against Quentin’s.

“I needed to be sure you actually wanted this and weren’t just overcome with emotions after seeing me for the first time when you thought I had died.”

Eliot pauses and looks down at the table.

“It may also have been because I was feeling overwhelmed myself and was worried I’d do something I’d regret later. Like, what if we got involved and it was super intense for a few days and then the whole thing sizzled out? And, besides, once again, I found you already attached to someone else and I wouldn’t want to do that to Alice, you know?”

Quentin leans forward, too, surprised to see this more vulnerable and honest side of Eliot. It’s a completely different experience seeing it on his face than it is to read it between the lines written in a letter.

Still somewhat hesitant, he grabs Eliot’s left hand. The other man looks up at him with a soft gaze.

“I understand. Obviously, I didn’t want to hurt Alice either. Unfortunately, I realized that, by keeping this up with her, I’d always end up hurting her. I guess in a way it was better to put a stop to it now.”

He squeezes Eliot’s hand. “But I’m in this if you still want to give it a chance. I really care about you,” he lowered his gaze and his voice, “and I know I’ve only seen – and recognized – you once before this, but I missed you this past month.”

Eliot’s heel rubs against his calf in a comforting matter and a bashful smile blooms on his face. Quentin is amazed by it.

“We talk or text most days now, which is definitely an improvement from our letters every once in a while,” he declares simply.

Quentin looks at his hand still wrapped around Eliot’s.

“But,” he continues, turning his hand in Quentin’s. “I missed you, too,” he whispers.

It earns him a pleased and beautiful smile from Quentin.

“Though, to be fair, I did see you more often than you saw me,” Eliot confesses.

“Ugh, I’m never gonna live this down, am I? So I forgot what you looked like when I met you at the party. I was drunk and emotional, ok?”

The other man laughs, but acquiesces.

“Fair enough. But I wasn’t actually talking about that time at the party,” he explains, gesturing around them. “Or the time we crossed paths here.”

Quentin’s jaw drops and his eyebrows rise at that statement.

“Did we meet again and I forgot, too? Shit, I’m starting to think I should really talk to my doctor…”

Eliot’s laughter comes out a bit louder this time. The hand holding Quentin’s pulls it towards him so he can grab it with both hands. He starts rubbing it tenderly.

“No, no. That’s not quite… Ok, let me backup for a second here. Much like you kind of predicted in one of your letters, I saw you again a few times over the last two years in completely random situations out on the street or at a shop. But,” he continues when it looks like Quentin is going to say something again. “You didn’t see me. You didn’t look my way in any of those occasions. So you didn’t forget, don’t worry.”

Quentin lets that thought settle for a moment.

“And were those _completely random situations_ accidental or…?”

Eliot tilts his head and looks thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Hmm. At least about 80% of those, I’d say were totally by chance.”

“And the other 20%?”

He shrugs.

“So I got attached and needed to make sure you were doing okay… I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I wasn’t out there stalking you or anything. It’s just… I had to wait two years, Quentin. There was nothing else to do but to wait, so I found a way to put my mind to rest. Seeing you every once in a while was good enough for me, and doing it from a safe distance kept me from doing something stupid like actually walking up to you and make small talk.”

Quentin smiled softly at him just before the waitress returned to lift their plates and ask what they wanted to order for dessert.

The conversation continued, with Eliot telling Quentin about some of the other things he’d done in the past two years while he waited. Quentin also told him some ER stories – to which Eliot kept replying to with “I think I saw that in a random episode of some medical show”, making Quentin shake his head every single time and start small rants about the inaccuracies of some of those.

Eventually, they leave the diner. It isn’t too far from Quentin’s apartment, so Eliot suggests they walk there and then he’ll get an Uber back home.

They stand close to each other as they walk. Quentin is itching to walk even closer and touch Eliot again, so he stuffs his hands deep inside his jacket’s pocket and focuses on their conversation instead.

As they get closer to the apartment building, they fall into a comfortable silence naturally. Quentin keeps glancing at Eliot and finding him already smiling at him. The whole thing keeps making his steps falter and his insides do weird little jumps, but it’s worth it for Eliot’s pleased little smirk.

As they turn the corner into his street, Eliot points out at what’s ahead of them.

“Is that the same tree?”

Quentin nods in response.

“Complete with the personalized engraving and everything. Unless there’s someone in this building with the same initial as me,” he teases.

Eliot smiles and makes his way towards the tall tree.

“You know, I haven’t actually been around this area in the past couple of years, so I hadn’t seen it yet. I wasn’t sure how much it would grow or if they would try to take it down.”

When he reaches it, he touches its bark, looking all over for the special letter he’d marked on it. As soon as his fingers find its ridges, he beams and looks over. His fingers stutter and he freezes, jaw dropping slightly.

Quentin makes it over to him in slower strides. His fingertips reach out to follow the lines of the **_E_** he carved right next to it only a couple of weeks ago.

Eliot turns his awed gaze to him and Quentin’s cheeks heat up.

“I also got really attached, I guess you could say. It’s silly and it makes me feel like a teenager who’s drawing little hearts on the last page of my notebook in the middle of Chemistry class, or trying out a different last name or something. But it felt right in the moment. I was coming home from a late shift, it was dark out, so no one saw me doing this. Unless someone was out late, too, then I guess I–”

Eliot’s lips cut off his ramble so suddenly that it takes him a second to realize it’s happening. He grabs onto Eliot’s waist while the other man’s hands – which he’d used to grab Quentin’s face and pull him into a kiss – move to cup his neck instead.

Quentin melts into it, letting Eliot take over. When the taller man breaks the kiss, Quentin’s fingers immediately curl tighter, still not ready to let go. He opens his eyes to look up into Eliot’s. He’s a terrible sap, but he could swear his eyes were sparkling.

His hands move to Eliot’s chest and his lips morph into an incredibly delighted smile. He immediately looks down at his fidgeting fingers and bites his lip. He feels Eliot’s chest shake with his joyful laughter.

“I always thought I’d be the first one to break,” Quentin whispers, still awed.

Eliot’s hands fall to Quentin’s hips to pull him even closer.

“Q, I waited two years. I think that’s long enough, don’t you think?”

He nods dumbly and looks back up at Eliot, who’s now smiling softly at him, and fuck if he’s not a little _lot_ in love with this man.

“Agreed,” he says with a slight quiver. “And I’m not complaining at all, mind you. In fact, I think we could try to do that again. Maybe a bit longer this time?”

The other man shakes his head before leaning down again for another kiss. Their lips move in sync and Quentin sighs into it before pressing for it to get slightly more intense and heated.

Eliot is quick to follow, one hand finding the back of Quentin’s neck again as he pushes them back a step. Quentin feels himself get backed into the tree trunk and lets a little huff leave his lips.

The other man pulls back so they catch a breath, but soon dives back in, pressing himself against Quentin’s body. For his part, Quentin is holding onto Eliot’s back and encouraging him to come even closer and rub himself all over him.

When his lips start to tingle and Eliot presses him over this one dip on the tree bark, he lets out a soft moan, which makes the other man break the kiss and take a step back.

“Maybe we should stop before this gets out of hand,” Eliot suggests in a slow voice as he tries to steady his breathing again. Quentin feels his back expand when he takes a deep breath and it just thrills him so much to feel Eliot so alive under his hands like this.

“Or… hear me out. Maybe we could go upstairs… and keep going,” he counter arguments instead.

Eliot pretends to think it over and Quentin pushes him away slightly with a laugh. He takes a step back, but immediately returns to Quentin’s personal space with a smirk on his face.

“Hmm. Ok. That sounds _way_ better,” he whispers in Quentin’s ear.

“Unless you…”

“No, no. I definitely want this.” He drops a kiss to Quentin’s neck, making him shiver. “Right now, if you do, too.”

“I do,” he breathes out, eyes closed in bliss as Eliot’s lips make their way to his jaw.

“Ok. Then we can go upstairs. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Those words shouldn't delight Quentin as much as they do, but he’s way past denial right now. He knows this man will be his downfall in all the best ways possible and he’s okay with that.

“Oh, you’re staying?” he tries to go for teasing, but it still comes out a bit too shaky to fully disguise the genuine curiosity in his question.

Eliot kisses him again before he pulls back, a hand already dragging Quentin behind him towards the entrance door of the apartment building.

“All night long, my sweet prince. Even longer, if you’ll have me.”

It’s a loaded sentiment, but one Quentin finds he is more than ready to embrace. His fingers curl around Eliot’s and he grins at the other man, already so besotted.

“Don’t mind me if I do.”

There’s a long road ahead of them, but they’re finally walking down it at the same time.

And maybe a few years down the line, they’ll be back at the lake house, together this time, along with Muntjac.

And then the house will finally be a home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, you're the true champ!  
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Leave me your thoughts down below!


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